


The Countess of Warminster

by McGrail123



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Lavendar Marriage, RST, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 16:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15077198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McGrail123/pseuds/McGrail123
Summary: It is the dawn of the Great Depression and Phryne Fisher finds herself in England trying to salvage her parents' estate, secure their future, and get back to Australia as soon as possible with the intent of resuming her budding romance with Inspector Jack Robinson, who was unable to follow her to England in September, 1929.





	1. Old Blighty

**Author's Note:**

> Intro: I’ve been wowed by the sheer talent of the fic writers, Kerry Greenwood’s books, and the production quality of the TV series, which I got me hooked after my aunt and uncle recommended it to me on our local PBS station in the USA. Once I watched the series to its completion on Netflix, I’ve been reading the Kerry Greenwood books and a ton of fan fiction to my delight. The fan fiction writers are amazingly talented and strike me as professional writers.
> 
>  
> 
> I’ve decided to take what I’ve either seen or read, throw it into a big pot, and create a new stew! I’m American, but, my most prized possession is my Australian saddle! I am an equestrian and a bicyclist—my twin passions will find their way into my fics.  
>    
> My head canon: I’m borrowing the characters as portrayed by the talented actors on the TV series; I nabbed from the books Phryne’s household pets, Ember and Molly, adopted daughter Ruth, and I’ve placed Miss Fisher’s date of birth in the late 1880’s with the deaths of her male relatives in peerage in the Anglo-Boer War, so that Phryne’s family comes into wealth, title and the estate in England around 1905-1906 and are well established there before World War I. Janie’s abduction and murder by Murdoch Foyle would take place around 1903. This would make Phryne in her twenties when she served as a nurse/ambulance driver in France between 1914—1918 and nearing forty as the 1930’s commence. This shoring up of the timeline gives Phryne time to master aviation, make sound business investments, learn martial arts, speak several languages, have a myriad of occupations (pruning orange trees on a Kibbutz in the Galilee, driving cattle across the Australian Outback on horseback, trick riding in the circus, nude modeling in Paris, sifting dirt on an archeological dig in Peru, ponying race horses into the gates at Churchill Downs in Louisville, Kentucky, and a lucrative stint as a dominitrix in Berlin during the Weimar Republic.)
> 
> This fic starts after the end of season 3 with Phryne in England trying to salvage her parents’ finances following the stock market crash in 1929 and trying to minimize the impact from the financial collapse to the families employed on the Somerset estate for generations. When she later returns to Australia, her relationship with the Inspector doesn't simply resume where it left off in the airfield at the end of season 3. Changes are afoot in her Australian household as Dot develops new interests and skills to become a thoroughly modern woman.
> 
>  

Chapter 1

Somerset, England, January 1930.

__  
_Dear Jack:_

_I hope the summer in Melbourne finds you in good spirits. As I write, I believe I have not seen the sun for over 60 days! I should have never bothered bringing my sun shades to England! The dreariness here is compounded by my efforts to condense and consolidate our estate due to the worldwide economic crisis and the narcissism and fecklessness of my parents. I amuse myself by inventing ways of murdering my father and making it be the ‘perfect crime’. That said, so many dedicated families and staff in my parents’ employ are impacted by their impetuous and financially reckless decisions. I am trying to move heaven and earth to secure employment for over ten families; I am sending three couples to the Antipodes with jobs and lodgings secured._

_My days are filled with meetings with accountants, lawyers and the like. My reading material consists of ledgers, charts, graphs and bills to pay. I spend so much time at this rolled top desk, that I am wearing spectacles as I compose this letter, smoking a gasper (yes, I know, disgusting habit—I promise to quit again once away from my family), with music playing on the wireless to drown out my parents’ constant quarreling. Gone are the days of luxuriating in my bubble bath while reading DL Lawrence!_  


_I think about you constantly and I cannot wait to return to what we had begun in Melbourne. I miss you terribly and I long to start up where we left off in the airfield. I miss our stimulating conversations and analyses, I miss your sandalwood aftershave; I close my eyes and see your smirk and that mischievous glint in your eyes when you chastise me for something flippant I’ve said or done._  


_I’m starved and parched for decent conversation and company in the cloistered confines of English aristocracy. The world is becoming scary again- I fear the rise of fascism in Europe—that Austrian agitator, Hitler, concerns me. You would be appalled at the conversations I’ve overheard recently among my social peers; so many toffs are in support of fascism and think Hitler would be good for Germany. The Prince of Wales has said so himself. Can you believe that? After so many English boys died so horribly in the “Great War?” I’m thoroughly dismayed and disgusted with my family’s social circle and can’t wait to return to Melbourne to my home, my friends, and our partnership._  


_As much as I miss you being here with me, I completely understand why you didn’t drop everything in Australia and follow me. Dot has told me that you are in the throes of a family emergency. Please Jack, please confide in me and let me or my household assist you in any way possible. Mac is available to listen. Whatever this crisis entails, please let us help you!_  
_There is a delicate matter I must discuss with you before you should see it in the newspapers._

_I am betrothed to a childhood friend (not one of my “old friends”) in order to secure our estates as the economy slides into depression. Dillton is required to marry in order to assume the title of Earl of Warminster and take on his parent’s estate. This is strictly a companionate marriage; Dill’s nature is such that he is impervious to my charms (in fact, the charms of ANY woman) and knows about my feelings for you. He’s thrilled that I’ve found peace and balance in my partnership with you and encourages my desire to return to Melbourne to resume our romance. Dill has found the same solace in his valet; they are as thick as thieves!_  
_Our wedding is scheduled for May which coincides with the end of Jane’s school term in France. Dill will then travel the horse show circuit through Europe as he has become a renowned horseman, competing in dressage, stadium jumping and cross-country races as well as guest riding at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna. Jane and I will set sail for Melbourne and should be home by late July. You will be delighted at how grown up and poised Jane has become---with her new bob and glasses she looks quite the intellectual!_  


_Again, please do not let my impending marriage cause you pain and worry. This platonic marriage is a business solution to complex problems, which I will elaborate once back in Australia. I do dearly want our romance to bloom upon my return home and I must again reiterate that our impending romance will not be adulterous. No man has ever captivated me on so many levels has have you, Jack._  
_With great affection and longing,_  
  
_P_

The Hon. Phryne Fisher removed her new reading glasses, rubbed her eyes and then reached behind her neck to stretch out her back and shoulder muscles as she sat at the heavy roll top desk in the office at her parent’s estate in England. After a long day of meetings with accountants and solicitors and arguing with her father, Phryne’s only source of relaxation was found in written correspondence with Jack, Mac, Dot and her friends in Melbourne. She then lit a Gaulois cigarette and after penning this letter to her dear Jack, she then followed with letters outlining her impending marriage plans to the future Earl of Warminster to each of her loved ones in Australia. She took special pains in her letter to Dot to fully explain the nature of her engagement to the Earl and of her plans to return to Melbourne in July with Jane in tow, expecting life to resume as it was before her hasty departure with her father in that airfield that previous September. 

  
“Dill is, if you would, Dot, a male version of Mac,” Phryne wrote in her letter to the new bride, “And yes, Dot, I would very much like to return to the Inspector as soon as possible.”

Phryne has gleaned from Dot’s letters that her marriage to Hugh is still delightfully in its honeymoon stage and that they are grateful for Phryne’s generosity in having them stay her bijou residence on the Esplanade order to avoid paying rent and thus saving for a house of their own before starting a family of their own. “Good!” thought Phryne, “Dot and Hugh aren’t jumping right into parenthood. Perhaps they have read the Erotica of the Far East together,” she smirked to herself as she rocked back into her desk chair blowing smoke rings into the air and mussing up her bob, which is longer and slightly shaggy as fashion trends dictate into the new decade. 

At breakfast the next morning with her mother, Phryne handed a canvas satchel containing the aforementioned correspondence to Phipps, Margaret’s butler, as he was headed to the village post office later that morning. 

“Thank you Phipps darling,” Phryne said graciously, “I’m sure you will handle this satchel as if made of gold. Take care driving today as the roadways are slick with England’s winter brew of snow, sleet, freezing rain and wind.” Phipps smiled, nodded graciously and departed swiftly, a graceful figure in black with a shiny monocle.

“Honestly, Mother, we don’t pay him nearly enough”, Phryne grumbled to her mother with Phipps out of earshot. 

“Perhaps in a few short months, once you are the Countess of Warminster,” Margaret began, sanguinely stirring her tea, “Phipps can be properly compensated.”  


Margaret placed her spoon down and eyed Phryne warmly.

“Phryne, dear, you have no idea how happy this marriage to Dill makes me. I’m so happy you’ve found someone of our kind that makes you happy and centered. I’m glad you’re not mooning over that Australian policeman anymore---I just couldn’t see you with a man so middling. I think you would tire of him eventually,” Margaret then stirred her tea and continued, sitting back in her chair and casting a long glance at Phryne, “Your father is a weak man,” she began, “and I knew from the beginning I had made a terrible mistake. I defied my parents in order to marry Henry Fisher, to prove to them I could marry for love.”

Phryne nodded in silence, contemplating Margaret’s estrangement and eventual disinheritance from Phryne’s grandfather, Sir Harold Holloway, (was the family name originally Horowitz? Phryne couldn’t remember), a cousin of Benjamin Disraeli, who had married Phryne’s grandmother, Anna Lazarus, the daughter of an Ohio retail mogul. Grandfather Holloway had parlayed Anna’s ample dowry into a chain of successful department stores across Australia, New Zealand and Western Canada. Margaret had thrown away this affluence and educational opportunity on Henry Fisher, the son of a fallen English aristocrat and a semi-literate barmaid, a woman whose family is said to descend from the original convict settlement in New South Wales.  


To say the American branch of the Fisher family was successful would be the understatement of the early 20th century. 

The American side of the Fishers would establish a thriving carriage/buggy business in Norwalk, Ohio, that would transform the burgeoning auto industry and become a household name: The Fisher Body division of General Motors. Charles Fisher would own Dixiana Farms in Kentucky, breeders of champion Thoroughbred race horses and American Saddlebred show horses. Again, it cannot be stated clearly enough that Baron Henry Fisher was at the bottom of the family gene pool. 

The success of the Holloway/Lazarus family, however, was not lost on Margaret’s sister, Prudence Stanley, who improved upon her charmed upbringing by marrying an upstanding Anglican businessman and rising to the pinnacle of Melbourne society. Phryne harbored resentment toward her mother for denying her own children food, comfort, education, medical care in order to cleave to Henry Fisher.

Margaret continued, “Marriage must have practical implications in addition to love,” she added ruefully, “You and your sister deserved so much better and I failed you on so many levels. You and Dill will be able to do so much good together and you seemed happy together as children. I can’t understand why it took so long for you two to find each other but I’m glad you are not repeating my mistakes.” 

“I’d rather hang buck naked, upside-down, in January, from Big Ben than to slavishly devote myself to a narcissist like Henry Fisher, ignoring the pleas of hunger from my own children,” Phryne thought to herself. Phryne used to steal milk bottles off the front doors of houses to feed Janey, her younger sister, and also baby Louis, her little brother who died of diphtheria at age three. Phryne remembered Louis burning up with fever and chased after him when he tore off his clothing and ran outside into the freezing rain for relief. How Margaret Fisher would deny her children basic necessities from her own affluent parents and sister and choose to live in squalor would perplex Phryne to no end. 

Phryne scooted her chair noisily against the parquet floor in the dining room as she took a swig of strong coffee,

“Mother, part of this marriage arrangement is to make sure that Henry Fisher never hurts another human being as long as he lives. Dill and I are merging our estates as soon as I find suitable employment for our staff and farm families. You and father with have an apartment inside of Warminster Castle and a small townhome in London at Earl’s Court. I will liquidate Somerset to pay off all debts and back taxes, then we will vacate this residence as I’m donating it to so that it can serve as a group home for war veterans and their destitute families. You and father will live on a pension and will not impact anyone else’s financial lives.”  
Margaret dropped her spoon into her teacup. 

“Phryne, are you evicting us?” Margaret asked, with great indignation. Phryne had risen and began to depart for the parlor for her winter coat and fur trimmed hat. 

“Yes Mother, I am. I’m entering a marriage of convenience so that I never need to bother with you two again. Once you and Father are ensconced at Warminster, I am taking Jane and leaving for Australia to be with the man I love.” 

 

That evening Phipps brought dinner to Phryne in the study as she was poring over documents leading to the liquidation of her parent’s estate. She thanked Phipps again for his arduous journey to the post office and for the great care in handling her Australian bound parcels.  


Unfortunately, the international mail system did not handle Phryne’s precious parcels in the same fashion.  


The satchel of letters arrived in Melbourne, Florida, in early March, where they remained undiscovered until 1946.


	2. The Earl of Warminster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future Earl of Warminster was the only person in all of England that behaved decently toward a teenage Phryne Fisher when her family first inherited the Somerset estate and titles. Dill was a brother of sorts and was a wonderful co-conspirator.

Chapter 2

Warminster, England, March, 1930

Dill cut a dashing figure in his dinner coat and tails with white shirt, white ascot and cummerbund as he showed Phryne her suite for her at his family’s home at Warminster castle in preparation their wedding. Dill’s high forehead, with his receding hair neatly swept off his face with pomade, his pince nez glasses and pencil thin mustache gave him the air of the stereotypical early 20th century aristocrat. To an American at the time, he would remind them of Mr. Peanut, the icon on the jar of every Planter’s Peanuts and seen frequently in magazine advertisements. In contrast to Dill’s foppish appearance, is an easy smile, kind eyes and a way of seeing humor in almost any situation with a raucous laugh bouncing off the murals of fox hunt scenes in the corridors of castle Warminster. At his side or under his feet was his constant companion, Lulu, a young Boston Terrier, whose prancing feet echoed through the stables and corridors as if she were the true Countess of Warminster. Phryne’s introduction to Lulu entailed a quick jump into Phryne’s lap, a quick peck on her chin, and then a launch across the parlor into Dill’s arms. By the time Phryne realized she had been licked, Lulu had already made her escape. 

Dill and Lulu escorted Phryne up the wide staircase, just past the hall of fox hunt paintings, Tudor era armor and stuffed animal heads, Dill taking Phryne’s arm in his as Lulu darted around their feet. 

“How thoughtful Dill,” Phryne exclaimed, patting his shoulder, “my guest suite is across the hall from yours, giving the pretense that we are lovers! Absolutely brilliant!” 

“Your cleverness is rubbing off on me, Phryne dear,” Dill quipped, taking a finger and rubbing it affectionately across the tip of Phryne’s nose, “How I looked up to you when we were just kids back then when you arrived from Australia. You always had some type of scheme or caper. I just loved it how you looked at the world as if it were some big, inside joke, and that I was in on it with you.” 

“Oh, Dilly, and I can still call you that,” Phryne gave Dill’s arm another squeeze, “you were the only nice person to me in all of England when we arrived from Australia. I was so happy when our parents introduced us—I knew we would be friends for life and I had someone to take on my adventures, just like I did when Janey was alive…” 

“Nonsense,” Dill quipped, “I knew you were the girl for me when you and I sabotaged that fox hunt so long ago.” 

“Do you mean when I emptied my night time chamber pot into the gardeners’ watering cans for a week and then you and I had spread the contents around the hunt course on our bicycles at dawn before the hunt?” Phryne let a huge guffaw peel off the walls of the suites. 

“Yes, and to see the hounds confused, sniffing like crazy in circles. A hunt party of almost twenty horses and riders, turned into a giant merry-go-round while the foxes were left unmolested. Priceless,” Dill smiled. 

“And then the time when our schools got together for a huge camping trip in the Cottswalds,” Dill recalled, “I could not understand why all those kids were so mean to you and me,” Dill stroked his chin thoughtfully, “How they set us up, got us in trouble, and we always had latrine duty. I was miserable. My father made me go so they could make me more ‘manly’.” 

“I think you had it worse than me,” Phryne said thoughtfully, “I know the girls teased me mercilessly for being a ‘stupid Aussie’ telling me to sing ‘Waltzing Matilda’ for them, asking me for billy tea, snickering behind my back for having stray hairs flying out of my plaits, saying that I got along better with dogs and horses than people…. But it really made my blood boil when you were teased for being a sissy, wearing glasses, reading books, taking part in theatre….” 

“I was so used to it and I felt so defeated….until I met you,” Dill mused. 

“And, together, instead of being defeated, we decided to get even.” Phryne replied with a mischievous grin. 

They together reminisced how one gorgeous fall afternoon, the rest of the campers departed, with backpacks and staffs, singing songs, smiling, headed off to the cathedral forest for a hike and picnic, while Dill and Phryne were ordered to clean the disgusting pit toilet. Once the troop departed, the only sound to Dill and Phryne’s ears were the insects buzzing around inside the latrine. Dill had been sent to the camp with a state of the art bug catching device, a recent gift for his tenth birthday. Phryne asked Dill if he had the device at his campsite. He nodded. “Go and bring it to the latrine,” Phryne had ordered. Dutifully, Dill caught a sizeable number of flying insects that made the latrine their home. Defying orders to stand at guard at the latrine, Dill and Phryne sneaked back into the campsite and distributed the insects into the sleeping bags of the most offensive campers. 

Once caught, Phryne admitted to the camp directors that she alone put the insects in the sleeping bags. “Yair,” she spat out in her Collingwood dialect, “I’d do it again…and again… again…” 

They were put on the next train to Warminster. Margaret Fisher met the two errant campers at the train station; Phryne feigning a stomach virus; Dill the gallant escort home. “Seriously, Phryne,” Margaret grumbled, “If I thought you would only last three days at camp, I would not have wasted the two quid to send you there. I thought that growing up in Collingwood you were made of sterner stuff.” 

When retelling this story as they were dining at Somerset with Margaret Fisher the previous week, Margaret’s eyes widened in recollection, and then she laughed uproariously at the true reason for her daughter’s expulsion from camp, and why she never was present at any organized field trips. While stealing a side glimpse toward Dill, Margaret quipped, “I don’t think there was any organized institution, be it a school, camp or whatever, where I did not get notice of my daughter’s expulsion.” 

In later years, a middle aged Phryne would take younger relatives on sightseeing tours, be they in England or Australia, and point out all of the institutions that ejected the young guttersnipe from their premises. \------ 

Dinner went splendidly with Dill’s recently widowed mother; Phryne, a huge fanatic for lobster, was completed delighted when served an entirely blue lobster caught off the coast of Brittany in France. “Divine,” she gushed, “the finest bit of animal flesh in the world.” As the dinner dishes were taken away and coffee and madeleines served, Lulu jumped into Dill’s lap, panting with a huge show of her grinning teeth. As Phryne tried to make conversation with Dill’s mother, the Dowager Countess of Warminster, her eyes kept travelling to the apparition of Lulu, taking in her wide, expressive eyes, bashed in face, and her impossibly sharp and erect ears that stood up like darts. Dill could see the amusement building in Phryne’s face as she strained to maintain a normal countenance while listening to her future mother-in-law discuss the specifics of the Warminster estate while trying to hide her urge to burst out laughing at the sight of the colorful, cheeky and utterly adorable little American bulldog. Dill found Phryne’s obvious affection toward Lulu endearing and was relieved that the scrawny girl from Australia was still the animal lover he had met so many years ago. 

After an evening of small talk, Dill and Phryne retired to their suites upstairs. 

“Nightcap,” Dill invited, “in fifteen minutes?” 

Phryne knocked softly at Dill’s door clad in orange-pink Chinese inspired silk pajamas with a flowing dressing gown adorned in feathers and boas. Her slippers, a gift from her former lover, Lin Chung, were from a souk in Istanbul, covered in jewels and with toes pointing upwards, giving her feet an elfin quality. Dill answered in Pima cotton stripped pajamas and a silken robe, akin to the elegant smoking jackets popular in Hollywood films. A phonograph was playing “I can’t give you anything but love, baby,” by the Duke Ellington orchestra. Dill poured them each a tumbler of whiskey and with great enthusiasm, shared his collection of American jazz records with Phryne, teaching her the newest dance steps, including the Lindy Hop. They giggled, danced and critiqued the new recordings and discussed the impending arrival of Jane, due in from France the following afternoon, and how, once married, they could pursue Jane’s legal adoption. Dill, at marriage, will become the Earl of Warminster, upon his demise, Jane Ross will become the Countess of Warminster. Phryne and Dill laughed heartily at the idea of Jane outranking Phryne and her father in peerage. Firstly, Dill suggested, Jane will need to learn how to ride a horse, which Phryne assured she would make an excellent student of equitation, given her love of Molly and Ember, the stray dog and cat adopted by Phryne’s household in Melbourne. 

“Do you remember my big bay Oldenburg mare, Sigrid,” Dill began, “she’s in foal and due to deliver within forty-eight hours. This afternoon her udders began to wax over.” 

“Oh, yes, I remember Sigrid…eighteen hands of pure cuddle,” Phryne smiled, “You did so well with her in those eventing trials. Is this her first foal?” Dill smiled and nodded like an expectant father. 

“The foal should arrive within a day of Jane’s arrival. I say, let’s camp out in the stables tomorrow night and await the arrival of the baby. Wouldn’t that be fun?” Dill surmised. 

“Yes, Dilly darling, but only if there are certain creature comforts. I’ve had enough nights during the war trying to sleep outside in the cold with no toilet. I try to stay in civilization if I can help it.” Phryne was reclining at the foot of Dill’s bed, scratching Lulu behind the ears and was rewarded with a snort and a toothy grin. She then tucked Dill and Lulu into the bed, placing kisses on their foreheads and turning out the lights as she strode toward her guestroom. 

The following night, in the stables, three camp beds with sumptuous eiderdowns were set up next to the foaling stalls. A picnic basket was nearby containing a baguette, hazelnut spread, bonbons, petit fours and thermoses full of tea, coffee and hot cocoa for Jane. Dill and Phryne picked Jane up at the Channel ferry line in Dover, then back to Warminster at breakneck speed with Phryne at the controls of Dill’s Bentley, enabling Dill and Jane to make small talk and get acquainted. Jane was drawn immediately to Dill, the very affable Lulu, and then his valet, Max Rosenthal, and found the two men to be flamboyant and very funny; both men gushed over her new eyeglasses, as they were elegantly framed with tiny diamonds from the most expensive optometrist in Paris at Phryne’s behest. 

Dill introduced Jane and Phryne to his stable of beautiful and well-mannered horses representing breeds from all over Europe. His stallion at stud was a Royal Lipizzaner from Vienna sporting a gorgeously shiny white coat and coal black markings around his muzzle and eyes. Not only was he perhaps the most highly trained stallion in England, he was very gentle with impeccable ground manners. Jane fell in love with a Hackney cross that Dill had schooled himself, a small chestnut mare with a star and stripe on her face and had the elegant barn name of Cynthia. Dill assured Jane that Cynthia was so polite and well trained, she could sense a rider’s desire to change gaits within seconds of issuing the appropriate signals. Cynthia was destined to become Jane’s dedicated mount. Dill then escorted Jane into Sigrid’s stall, which was equipped with infrared lighting, state of the art for 1930, to ensure her foal would be sheltered from the cold. 

After changing into warm bed clothes in the elegantly appointed tack room, Dill and Jane tucked into the picnic basket as he discussed how raising, training and breeding horses became his true calling. His goal was to not only have one of the best training and lesson barns in Southern England, but to also dual utilize his aging mounts in a program designed to introduce underprivileged children to the joys of horsemanship. Their discussion was then punctuated by the sound of a toilet flush next to the tack room, and the swishing arrival of Phryne, as she was tying up her dressing gown and pushing her hair off her forehead. 

“I must say, Dilly dear, I’ve never seen such accoutrements in a riding stable! Well done, old chap. This is certainly a higher level of comfort than I’d ever imagined! You are a beacon of civilization!” She planted a sloppy kiss on Dill’s forehead and gave Jane a quick hug before plumping down on her camp bed and burrowing under her eiderdowns, “You two…wake me when Sigrid is in labor,” she quipped as she slid a mask over her eyes and turned on her side. Dill engrossed Jane in deep conversation over the length of equine gestation, how foals are handled and schooled from birth and how Dill was planning to school Jane in equitation. He assured Jane not only would he equip her with a secure seat, quiet hands and the confidence to trek on horseback without worrying about her balance, but that she would have a great deal of fun and laughter in the process. 

A few hours after Dill and Jane retired, Sigrid began pacing in her stall. The sounds of her hooves against the straw bedding had first awakened Jane as Dill and Phryne snored in their bunks. Jane bolted upright, slapped on her glasses, and began to tap her future stepparents awake. Dill stood with Jane as they marveled in birth of Sigrid’s foal, watching the new mother clean the afterbirth off of her newborn filly. All three humans exchanged expressions rimmed with tears. Dill, with Jane in tow, entered the stall and picked up the new filly; he and Jane guided her over to Sigrid where she began to nurse. 

Jane and Phryne watch Dill as he gazed adoringly at mare and foal, not bothering to hide his tears as they rolled out from under his pince nez glasses. 

Later that morning, after taking hot, comfortable baths, Phryne sat down in Jane’s guestroom and asked her what she thought of meeting Dill. 

“Oh, Miss…he’s so kind. He doesn’t seem at first like the marrying kind….but he seems to really love animals and the horses give him a chance to be a dad!” 

“I think so too, Jane, darling. Can you see why we were friends as children? He was the only English person who was ever nice to me. Dill is the only memory I have of England that blots out the vicious laughter of jeering girls and the stench of boiled cabbage from the various boarding schools that had expelled me. I have to give him this marriage, Jane, he needs me now.” 

“Aren’t we going back to Australia after my term?” Jane asked, “what about the Inspector?”


	3. The Robinsons in Melbourne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's quiet, solitary life is upended due to a family crisis in which his little bungalow is now bustling with activity and noise.

Chapter 3

 

May, 1930  
Melbourne, Australia

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson wiped oatmeal from his nose for the third time this morning as he attempted to feed breakfast to his youngest nephew, James, who kept throwing the bowl of cereal across the kitchen and hooting with delight. Fortunately for Jack, James’ older brother and sister, Matthew and Mary Beth, were of school age and discreetly polished off their breakfasts and grabbed their satchels to catch the school bus just doors away from Jack’s bungalow in Richmond as to not further aggravate their frazzled uncle. 

Jack’s sister, Catherine, became a recent widow when her late husband, Lawrence McCann, a successful Sydney banker and financial planner, hurled himself out of a six story office building in downtown Sydney in response to the financial collapse of September 29, 1929. Not only was his and Catherine’s nest egg wiped out with the stock market collapse, several of his clients lost their savings as well. He had advised everyone to invest aggressively into American stocks. 

Jack had traveled to Sydney to assist his sister in the liquidation of her house in order to pay off all debts and taxes, and then ensconced Catherine and the three children into his home. Catherine was able to secure a secretarial position in a Melbourne factory on the graveyard shift, enabling the children to be under her care or Jack’s at any given time of the day. Jack was often on duty from nine in the morning until eleven in the evening, always ensuring to be home by the time his sister left for her night shift. 

Catherine McCann was able to hug Matthew and Mary Beth at the bus stop on her way home and came in just in time for Jack to leave for his shift at City South; Jack greeted his sister with a sigh of relief but then gazed adoringly at his baby nephew and shot a closed mouthed smile at Catherine. His life had just become noisy and chaotic, and he quite liked it that way. Unbeknownst to him at that time, Catherine’s older children would remember and adore Jack for his fatherly presence in the stressful time following their father’s death and would repeatedly tell him what a comfort his entrance into their lives had been. 

As Jack rode the tram to his office, he contemplated how having a new family of his own had a salutatory effect on his moods which kept him otherwise occupied from constant obsession and angst over the absence of Miss Fisher in his life. “Good morning Sir,” Senior Constable Hugh Collins greeted cheerfully, “It looks like you could use a good cup of coffee or a stiff drink,” Hugh chuckled as he noted flecks of oatmeal in Jack’s pomaded hair, and then nodded in the direction of a picnic basket above the file cabinet. Jack took the cue and pulled back the checkered tea towel and to his delight, found a thermos full of Dot’s coffee and an assortment of jam and custard filled doughnuts, or Berliners as some of the locals called them. 

“Thanks Collins. Please pass my thanks to the missus,” Jack gave Hugh a slight pat on his shoulder and then contemplated the warmth and happiness he gleaned from the newlyweds, happy for the way they looked at each other yet bittersweet in that Jack and his ex-wife Rosie never traded such loving gazes. 

Jack took his coffee and doughnuts to his office and sat down to review the morning newspaper, neatly folded and unopened on his desk. 

When Jack finished perusing the sports section, he was ready to flip over the society pages so that he could work the crossword puzzle on the back page. Society gossip meant nothing to him, however, a photograph of two newlyweds on horseback dressed elegantly in shad belly jackets and top hats, kissing with an Anglican bishop in the foreground, jumped out at him. Then there was the headline: 

**“Melbourne’s Hon. Miss Fisher Weds Earl in England”**

Jack choked on his doughnut and nearly spat out his coffee, causing a coughing fit. He then read the gushing details of the nuptials, and the closing comments, nearly causing him to fall out of his chair, “Our happy equestrians shall be now called Mr. and Mrs. Dillton Heathcock, the Earl and Countess of Warminster!” 

He then rifled through the society pages and caught a glimpse of additional photos, taken at a lavish party with the newlyweds in high fashion, Phryne flashing a dazzling smile at the camera, bedecked in sequins, jewels and feathers, an ivory cigarette holder elegantly proffered in one hand while she draped her free arm around Dill’s tuxedoed shoulder. 

Jack felt sick to his stomach, and then the heat rising in his face, buzzing in his ears, nearly fainting. Once this spasm passed, he was overcome with a massive headache. As he stared back at the photograph, he groused in further violation, astride a small horse to the right of Phryne was her maid of honor, Jane Ross, splendid in a smart riding habit and derby, soon to become Lady Jane Heathcock upon her formal adoption by the Earl and Countess of Warminster. Losing Phryne was one thing, losing Jane was the unthinkable. \---- 

At the Queen Victoria Hospital for Women, Doctor Elizabeth MacMillan breezed toward the nurses’ station, lab coat billowing behind her neatly tailored tweed suit and trousers. “I’m done with my rounds for now, are there any messages for me?” Mac asked the nurses on duty. 

“Yes, doctor,” one of the young nurses replied, “A Detective-Inspector Robinson wishes to see you at your earliest convenience. The matter is quite urgent.” \----- 

Mac strode confidently past the constable station at City South and knocked with her knuckles gently on the door of Jack’s office. 

“Come in!” Jack grumbled, angry and out of sorts. Mac noted his hair had sprung loose from its pomade, his tie was loosened, eyes were bloodshot and he smelled of alcohol. 

“My God, what has she done now?” Mac demanded, correctly assuming the source of Jack’s predicament was her oldest friend, Phryne Fisher. 

Jack wordlessly tossed the front of the society pages across the desk to Mac’s purview. 

“What the Hell is this!!” Jack demanded, as if Mac were aware of Phryne’s marriage in England. Mac’s face registered complete shock and bewilderment as she gazed at the equestrian photo and reviewed the details of the wedding. She then shot Jack a look of sardonic amusement. 

“HeathCOCK!” Mac roared. Oh, God, please let this be a joke Mac thought, then repeated, “Mrs. Dillton Heathcock,” snorting with laughter, “Honestly Jack, for a woman who was in endless search of cock, no offence please, it just seems a propos that our dear Phryne would be named for it!!” 

Jack slammed his palm down on his desk. 

“It’s not funny, Mac,” he growled, “Were you aware of any of this?” Mac tried to compose herself for Jack’s benefit as to not further aggravate the man, who is one of her dearest friends. 

“Not at all Jack.” Mac replied gently, then took in a steady gaze of the wedding photograph. “All I can surmise is that not everything is as it appears. If this is any comfort to you, I’ve seen a lot of men come and go from Phryne’s life. She has never looked at them the way she has looked at you. Surely there is more here than meets the eye .” Mac rose, placed her fedora on her head and walked around Jack’s desk to give him a hug and a pat on the cheek, “I need to get back to the hospital as I have surgery within the hour. I will send a telegram to England on my way to the hospital.” 

That evening, after Jack’s sister Catherine left the bungalow for her night shift at the factory, little James woke up screaming with night terrors. Jack picked him up, carried him to the rocking chair near the fireplace, and stroked his blond curls as his sobs subsided. As Jack looked up at the mantle above the fireplace, his eyes fixed on a photograph taken of him and Phryne at the fun house at Luna Park, all smiles and happiness. With the realization that Phryne may be lost to him forever, and with a generous amount of whiskey in his veins, he allowed tears to fall and sobs to escape as he rocked his nephew to sleep.


	4. On the High Seas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jane bond over their travels on a luxury ocean liner as hit heads toward Australia.

Chapter 4—Aboard Ship

The Honorable Mrs. Heathcock was both admiring and cursing her mother’s Ashkenazi forbearers, tweezers in hand, in the privacy of her dainty vanity in her luxury suite aboard an ocean liner cruising through the Indian Ocean enroute to Australia, while swing music from Ambrose and his Orchestra on the promenade deck was audible inside her cabin for light entertainment. 

The majority of Phryne’s beauty regimen entailed the removal of unwanted facial and body hair, especially the course black hairs that sprouted literally overnight on her chin and neck. She once thought she was the only woman in England with this problem. Once the offending bristles were plucked away, she gave the mirror a cursory glance, admiring her thick yet fine shiny black hair from her mother’s Jewish relatives, wide set blue green eyes and delicate Anglo-Saxon facial features from her father’s family. She could have been a Hollywood movie star. Her beloved assistant, Dot Collins, once mused that she had found her Miss to be vain, promiscuous and overbearing but never wanted to leave her employ and that she adored her, faults in all. 

Phryne used this down time aboard ship to deepen her relationship with her newly minted stepdaughter as they dined, swam in the pool and walked the promenade deck each day. Phryne marveled at Jane’s razor sharp intellect and her prowess with mathematical reasoning, a skill set that eluded Phryne due to her short attention span. Phryne spent a great deal of time explaining the nature of her marriage to Dillton Heathcock, Earl of Warminster to a perplexed Jane, who had overheard gossip swirling behind the newlyweds— 

“If our old nelly Dilly is satisfying the dis-honourable Phryne Fisher,” Jane had overheard a foppish young man hiss, “then my name is Greta Garbo.” Among the titters Jane had noticed her adopted parents were referred to as Dilly and Dally. She did not like the social circle of elitists in England and did not like the way the “toffs” made fun of Dill’s gentleness and Phryne’s assertiveness. “We all know who wears that pants in that marriage,” Jane heard just about every time she entered a room. 

Dill, in his usual gracious manner, had really taken a shine to Jane and found her to be an apt pupil of horsemanship with outstanding eye-hand coordination. Jane was divided in her affections toward her new stepfather and Detective Jack Robinson, who she also admired as a father-figure. 

“I see horse riding really agrees with you, Jane you old bean,” Phryne began, “would you like to continue riding in Australia?” Jane broke into a huge smile and nodded profusely. “Good!” I will get with Aunt Prudence to re-open her stables, of course, to family and friends. Wouldn’t it be great if we could open a camp or program for Collingwood kids to learn the basics? I think kids and horses get on splendidly. Could I count on you becoming an instructor?” “I would love that Miss..er… Mum” Jane beamed, “I think we should start with Miss Dot. I think riding would do her a bit of good and she would be so nice to the horses. I would have been so happy to have gone to a horse camp when I was younger….” Jane’s voice trailed. 

“That sounds like a splendid idea, sweet bean,” Phryne gave Jane a slight squeeze, “you teach Dot how to ride, I will teach Dot how to drive.” Jane helped her adopted mother into her beaded evening gown. Phryne then explained to Jane that so many in her Australian family were avid equestrians; Mac enjoyed taking Thoroughbreds over the jumping courses at the Melbourne Country Club, Jack had served as a cavalry officer at the Beersheba campaign in the war, Mr. Butler had played some polo, and that Hugh was looking to serve on the Mounted Police unit. “With you and Dot in the mix, we could almost form a hunter pace team—wouldn’t that be fun?” 

Jane and Phryne walked leisurely toward the formal dining room as an elegant four course dinner awaited, Jane looking so much like a young woman in her stylish bob and elegant dress and heels. 

Dinner time conversation tilted toward loved ones awaiting in Australia. Jane worked up the nerve to inquire about Phryne’s unconventional marriage to Dill and its potential impact to Phryne’s burgeoning romance with Inspector Jack Robinson, who Jane was convinced he was the true partner to Phryne. Phryne tried to assuage Jane’s concern; that the folks in Melbourne should have received her letters well before the wedding date and that she was confident Jack would understand her situation. 

“Miss….I mean…mum…” Jane stammered over Beef Wellington for dinner, “Do you think the Inspector will allow himself to be with a married woman? He seems very proper and traditional.” 

Phryne cracked open the carcass of a lobster with great aplomb, “Jane, darling, Jack and I need to be discreet as it is with our investigations and business partnership. The Inspector is subject to criticism from his superiors if my presence is too noticeable, and now, I must be equally as discreet. Melbourne society will not take well to a married Countess with a detective inspector as a concubine.” 

“But wouldn’t he want to marry you?” Jane asked. 

“I wouldn’t think so Jane,” Phryne dipped a morsel of lobster into a ramekin of melted butter, lemon and garlic, “Jack is a divorced Catholic. In the eyes of the Church, if he remarries he will be unable to practice his faith.” 

“I didn’t know the Inspector is Catholic,” Jane mused, “He doesn’t seem to go to church with Dot and Hugh. How did you find out about his Catholicism? 

“Do you remember hearing about my father accidently hitting Jack in the head with the door, knocking him out?” Phryne recalled. Jane nodded. 

“When Mr. Butler and I carried him upstairs to the bedroom, we undressed Jack and put a clean pair of pajamas on him. When I went to hang up his trousers, his rosary fell out of his pocket. I exclaimed to Mr. Butler, ‘Oh, Bloody Hell! Not another one! Mr. Butler, please tell me that I moved to Australia, and not bloody Ireland!!’” Phryne cackled, causing Jane to giggle. Jane then grew silent, her facial expression in thought, as if performing a mathematical equation, 

“So…in the eyes of the Catholic Church,” Jane began, eyes narrowing behind her elegant spectacles, “If a person is divorced….and then they fall in love with someone new,” Jane’s expression was puzzled, “it is better if that they don’t actually marry the person they love, yet date and act as if married, am I correct?” 

“I believe you are right on that one, Jane darling. At least that’s how I was told, being the non-practicing, lapsed Anglican that I am.” 

“Religion is silly,” Jane quipped. 

Phryne broke off a piece of baguette and recalled, “Formal religious instruction was lost on me, too, my darling. One of the few times during my childhood when my mum and Aunt Prudence were speaking to each other, Aunt Prudence was owed a favor by a brewery owner who was active in Melbourne’s Catholic diocese—she sent me to the Academy of Mary Immaculate in Fitzroy to try to shore up my academics.” 

“You actually went to a Catholic school? Have you told Miss Dot about this?” Jane eyed her adopted mother quizzically. 

Phryne sucked in her lips to stifle a giggle and then leaned forward to whisper, “Jane, darling, I was not nearly as far along as you in school…in fact, the Academy of Mary Immaculate was my first experience with a modern toilet. I didn’t even know what one was! Well, as you can imagine, as the school day wore on, I needed to relieve myself. I went into the courtyard but I could not find a ‘dunny’ so I took care of business behind a hedge. Evidently I was spotted by one of the students….” 

“I think I know where this is going,” Jane interrupted and she stirred her crème brulee. 

“Mother Superior was appalled,” Phryne began to titter, “and then, when Aunt Prudence received the letter from the headmistress, she went completely berserk and railed at my mother for raising a feral creature for a daughter.” Phryne took a dainty sip from her wine, a fine Riesling from Alsace-Lorraine. 

Jane imagined Aunt Prudence’s outraged voice in her head, “My niece….urinating in the bushes at the courtyard of St. Mary’s…” 

“Didn’t you see the lavatory at the school?” Jane was giggling, her expressive brown eyes dancing behind her eyeglasses. 

“I thought the toilets were used for washing your feet!” Phryne snorted, “and that’s what I told Mother Superior, who then sat back in her chair and thoughtfully stroked her chin. She then asked for one of the younger nuns to bring in a girl, slightly older than me, very bright, attending on an academic scholarship, from a working class family that had emigrated from Scotland, to become a mentor. So this Scottish girl, with piercing blue eyes and fiery, wavy red hair…” 

“Doctor Mac?” Jane asked, surprised, she thought Phryne had met Mac during the war as adults. 

“Yes. Our Elizabeth MacMillan. Taught me how to properly use an indoor toilet,” Phryne and Jane laughed uproariously, “among other things.” 

Phryne then went on to describe the religious education at the Catholic school, which was completely lost on her as it would Jane. Young Phryne could not get her head around such doctrines as original sin, the Noah’s ark story (“how does a loving god seek to destroy his creations?”), the story of Abraham preparing to sacrifice Isaac, (“God sounds like a Russian Tsar…”). The nuns were soon made aware of Phryne’s non-Catholic family and heard that Phryne’s mother and aunt came from Jewish backgrounds. 

“I was asking the wrong questions,” Phryne admitted to Jane, “and the nuns were becoming increasingly agitated with me. Other girls were starting to do the same, especially our Elizabeth, who left her Catholic faith behind at the doorstep of St. Mary’s. So one day I was called into Mother Superior’s office, told I was a hopeless cause, and then two older nuns escorted me by my earlobes out of the convent and marched me two blocks away to the Liberal Synagogue, shoved me in front of the bearded Rabbi, and yelled ‘Rabbi, do something with her because we can’t’. And so thus, my Catholic education came to an end.” 

“Did you go to Temple,” Jane asked, “were you exposed to Judaism?” 

“I went to a Shabbat service once when one of mother’s relatives was in Melbourne. To my horror, the service was three hours long and I thought I was going to die. The rabbi talked, and talked, and talked. There were three boys having their Bar Mitzvahs. Pure torture!” Phryne cringed at the recollection, “I did work on a kibbutz in the Galilee after the war.” Phryne allowed herself to be lost in the reverie. All night guard duty with a dashing young Haganah officer. Yigal BenAmi, once known as Hymie Lefkowitz. Thick, jet black hair and mustache, tanned toned legs poking out from khaki shorts, broad shoulders, strong back that jutted out from a trim waist. She allowed a depraved thought enter her head; that European Jewish men struck her as effeminate yet Jewish men from the Palestine Mandate were so robust… and oh so virile….with such..endurance! 

“My main job was to prune orange trees,” Phryne recalled, “Kibbutz life was good for me. I enjoyed a working religion so to speak. I really respected the way the Jews cultivated what was barren desert. To me that was the ultimate practice of a religion. I worked for six hours per day and then attended a class to learn Modern Hebrew and was told my Hebrew had a Cockney lilt to it,” Phryne laughed as she placed a Gaulois in an ivory handled cigarette holder and flipped open her pearl tipped lighter. “It is remarkable what these European Jews have done to the land---growing and selling decent produce and then making Haifa a beach resort like Havana.” Phryne blew smoke rings away from Jane, “ But I’m afraid that since the Jews are turning barren land into California that the Arabs will kill to have it back and the black hatted Chasids from Poland will bring with them religious fundamentalism and be a kill joy for all. Religious zealots really know how to create hell on earth for the rest of us.” 

Changing the subject, Phryne asked Jane to give a rundown of the after dinner events; dancing in the piano bar, a Hollywood talkie feature, a big-band orchestra. Phryne deduced Jane found these events too sedentary after a huge dinner and leaned forward to mischievously suggest they change into their towels and bathing costumes to have the ship’s swimming pool to themselves and then a tournament of table tennis, which Jane soundly trounced her adopted mother. Decades later, Jane’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren would jokingly avoid a game of table tennis as to not be walloped by an eighty-year-old woman. Jane would forever adore Phryne for those moments she eschewed typical adult forms of relaxation and abandon herself to frolic as a child. She so adored that moment in Melbourne last July, during a brief and rare snowstorm, where she and Jack Robinson hid behind his police car and pelted with snowballs an elegantly fur trimmed Phryne as she exited her Hispano-Suiza with a flustered Aunt Prudence in tow. Phryne had laughed uproariously and returned the favor, striking the Inspector squarely on his bum with a tightly packed ball of ice. How Jane hoped that such moments would await upon their return to Melbourne. 

As they sailed into warmer latitudes with the Western Australian port of Perth as a stopover within days, Jane was awakened at night to the sound of the shower running in the tiny ensuite bathroom she shared with her new mum. She noticed Phryne showered both in the morning and just before bedtime and thought it odd that her mum also showered in the middle of the night. Jane repositioned her pillow and went back to sleep. Phryne, meanwhile, found herself waking at night bathed in sweat, her bedclothes soaked in all areas. During the day, several pretty young men traded flirtatious gazes with her, even to place their hands on her knees whilst sitting at the captain’s table. 

Just a short time ago, she would have willingly taken them into her sumptuous floating boudoir. On this trip, she was now a middle-aged married women traveling with a teenage daughter. Decorum indeed must be maintained. This sacrifice was a small one in that the appeal of frivolous flings with male strangers was waxing and waning. She did, at Dill’s encouragement, celebrate her nuptials by booking a suite at the Grosvenor House Hotel in Mayfair and entertaining firstly an Argentinian polo player then the following evening taking in the young Irishman who trained young polo ponies for the English team. Dill was writing an expose for the top equestrian magazine in Britain, highlighting the different approaches the Argentines and the English took toward the training of young colts as polo mounts; the Argentinian philosophy was to leave the young horses running in the wild, then subjecting them to rodeo style breaking methods, an approach that Dill found to be counter-productive and uncivilized. Dill preferred the British style of “schooling” where the foal is handled gently by humans from birth and patiently and quietly schooled into adulthood, gaining the trust of human riders and handlers. 

Just following the completion of the article and Phryne’s assignations with the two polo players, Dill cheekily asked Phryne if her investigation yielded the same results. She nodded and agreed that the Irishman had better technique than the Argentinian and that the soft touch approach of the British yielded better results. The Irishman, as Phryne quipped in equestrian parlance, “had a softer and quieter pair of hands.” 

As the ship approached the Antipodes; these final assignations in London were fading into the past. With Jane in tow, she did not abide in any shipboard flirtations. At a stop in Java, still under Dutch influence, for duty free shopping, she had picked up solid black lingerie, made from the finest Chinese silk and assembled by skillful Parisian couturiers; the sight and touch would be enough to kill the strongest man. Phryne imagined herself at some boring society event at the Rippon Lea Estate hosted by her Aunt Prudence, leaning discreetly into Jack Robinson’s ear, and whispering at the long elegant dining table, in a room full of Melbourne’s upper crust in her cut-glass English accent, 

“I have on black silk, picked out, just for you.” And then he would widen his eyes, gobsmacked. Or better yet, the blood would rush from his brain to a more prurient part of his anatomy, causing him to remain seated with a napkin placed over his lap as to not display his predicament. 

Phryne found herself in her sleep experiencing the sensuality of Detective Inspector Jack Robinson; her libido screamed for the future memory of his touch. If he was driving her to showering in the middle of the night while travelling across the Indian Ocean, God help her once the two of them are on the same continent.


	5. Return to Melbourne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne has arrived back in Melbourne but is on the wrong foot with the Inspector.

Chapter Five  
Melbourne, Australia, July 1930

After a rollicking greeting from her minions at the docks in Melbourne, a boisterous welcoming-home party was well underway at Phryne Fisher’s bijou home in St. Kilda. Cocktails flowed freely, punctuated by the occasional pop of a champagne bottle, jazz records played on the Victrola, new dance steps learned, laughter was abundant. Dot had organized the shindig and kept hugging Jane and Phryne throughout the evening; she was in tears when Phryne and Jane disembarked from the ship. As the evening wore on Dot would shoot an affectionate yet pained expression toward her mistress. 

Ruth, Jane’s best friend who was saved from domestic slavery by Bert Johnson and placed in Phryne’s household, had become an aspiring chef. While Jane attended prep school in France, Phryne had located Ruth’s biological father, a traveling musician, and then secured for her an apprenticeship at an upscale French restaurant in Melbourne. Ruth beamed with great satisfaction as she dazzled everyone with her mouthwatering appetizers which included morsels of breaded camembert cheese en croute, bacon wrapped coquilles St. Jacques, and a vegetarian pate made of truffles. Ruth ensured that Bert’s beer glass was forever full, as she would forever act as his adopted daughter. 

Bert elbowed his pal and fellow cabbie Cec, “Ruthie’s the daughter I’ve always wanted. With the good food she makes, I don’t ever want her to grow up and move away!"

“Too right,” replied Cec, filling his plate of appetizers. He was especially fond her Ruth’s homemade potato crisps, “You’re gonna need to beat away the blokes with a cricket bat!”

Tinker, a sixteen year old boy Phryne took in last year, looked tall and strapping in a clean white shirt, suspenders and tan moleskin trousers with a pair of laced oxford shoes. Phryne walked arm in arm with him, noticing he smelled like fresh castile soap. The boy had become civilized; he had been raised in a tent with 11 siblings at Queenscliff. Tink had aspirations of becoming a constable after a desperately poor childhood with run-ins with the local constabulary as he was caught stealing food for his younger siblings. When Phryne first took him in she had to lay basic groundwork: Bathing each day, wearing clean clothes, actually wearing shoes, and staying in school. He had found her household, while comfortable, a bit too “womany” as he put it. He had begged to lodge in her garden shed, she agreed, provided he use the Mr. and Mrs. Butler’s downstairs bathroom like a civilized human being. 

Well, guv’nor,” Tink began, “I’m so glad you’re home. Been too quiet around here. Even the Inspector hasn’t been around lately.”

Phryne’s antennae were alerted. From the second she looked out from the ship to the docks, she mentally took attendance. Dot, Hugh, Ruth, Mr. and Mrs. Butler, Tink, Dr. MacMillan, Bert and Cec, Aunt Prudence.

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was not present at the docks nor was he at the welcoming home party.

When Phryne excused herself for a brief respite from the party and retreated to her boudoir, she was followed by Dr. Mac and her beloved Border Collie, Molly. Molly jumped enthusiastically onto Phryne’s bed, then Phryne abandoned herself to dive onto the duvet and roll around with her dog, who dive bombed Phryne’s hands and arms and then rolled around on top of them, paddling her feet as if she were riding an invisible bicycle. After a few licks and yips from Molly, Mac finally spoke,

“Mrs. Dillton Heathcock,” Mac snorted, “Please tell me that’s a real moniker! For a woman who single-mindedly devoted herself to the pursuit of cock…”

“I know,” Phryne tittered, “to be named for it.” She was patting Molly’s belly.

“And what about the ‘I’m not the marrying kind’ and ‘I won’t commit myself to any one man.’ I mean, Phryne, what the hell just happened? It would make more sense if I had gone out and married a man with the benediction of the Pope!” Mac ran her hands through her bright red salon waved hair.  


“Dill and I are just childhood friends,” Phryne began, “It’s a companionate marriage. Dill’s an invert....Oh God, Mac…Did you get my letter?”  
“What letter?” Mac replied.  


“You didn’t get my letter that explained the whole arrangement?”  


“No. We learned of your marriage to the Earl of Warminster from the wedding photo with you and Dill on horseback on the society page of our newspaper.”  


“Is that the real reason I’ve not seen Jack today?” Phryne asked, worried.  


“When I told you he was working a very serious case and could not be called away to be here, I lied to you Phryne. Jack has been an absolute mess since we saw your wedding photos. He’s been absolutely foul toward Hugh and the other constables, forcing the young men to work double shifts, snapping and snarling and barking orders. He’s been very short fused and has stopped coming to your home for dinner and drinks. We had been meeting one night each week for drinks but since your wedding he won’t even speak to me in a social way.”  


“Oh my God,” Phryne began as she rose and hastened to rejoin the party, “my letters to you, and Dot, and Jack, have gone missing. No wonder Dot had a strange countenance toward me.”  


You, my dear, have your work cut out for you,” Mac patted Phryne on the shoulder as they descended the staircase.  
\-----  


After the party broke up and Jane, Ruth and Tink sat down to play the newest board game on the planet, Monopoly, Phryne and Dot retreated to Miss Fisher’s boudoir with a small tray of tea and biscuits. Dot admitted she did not receive a letter from her Miss describing her impending marriage and the brief outline of the worldwide economic crisis, resulting in the consolidation of the Fisher estate into the Heathcock estate at Warminster.  
“

Forgive me, Miss, I mean Countess,” Dot began as Phryne held both of her hands, “I’m not sure what to even call you now,” Dot shook her head.  


How about Phryne for starters,” Phryne gave Dot an affectionate smile, “or, better yet, ‘Darling’. I do draw the line at ‘Toots’ or ‘Queenie’.” Phryne gave a quick snort. She then explained the impetus behind her marriage to Dill, and of his nature and how it is similar to that of Mac, and that her intent was to return to Melbourne and resume her friendships, and how much she had missed her Australian family, her detective business and her collaboration with the Inspector.  


This is all so complicated,” Dot replied, head swimming, “I don’t think this kind of marriage would work for me.”  


Phryne wrapped her arms around Dot shoulders and gave a huge squeeze, “What you and Hugh have, darling Dot, is really special, and I’m so happy for you two. I want you to stay here with me until you can actually afford to purchase a home, rather than throw your hard earned money away on rent. Stay here as long as you want, in fact” she smirked, “I can certainly use your company.”

\---------  
Jack Robinson stopped at a café near City South to procure an extra strong cup of coffee. He had walked the floor with his nephew James throughout the night, as James was feverish and fussy from teething. Exhausted at the breakfast table earlier that morning when his sister Catherine arrived in from her night shift at the factory, his eyes were closed when he handed James to his sister. He felt he needed toothpicks to keep his eyelids open as he reviewed the case files that were piled on both sides of his desk.  


He was jolted from his exhaustion when he heard the staccato sound of clacking heels and a boisterous greeting toward Hugh Collins, who was at the constabulary desk. Unfazed by the door to Jack’s office being ajar and not fully open, Phryne burst through the door with the energy of a Thoroughbred horse out of the blocks, dressed in white trousers, red linen jacket and white cloche with feathers and a polka dotted foulard. A complete assault on all of Jack’s senses, the sounds, colors, and aroma of Jicky perfume. He fought the urge to break into a grin, launch across the desk, and throw his arms around her.  


“Hello Inspector,” she purred, eyeing the workload on his desk, “have you missed me?”  


“Countess,” Jack nodded, maintaining a stoic expression, “or is it Mrs. Heathcock now,” he growled, the fatigue tamping down the breathtaking assault on his senses. He then gazed back down at his paperwork, projecting an image of bored indifference.  


You can still call me Phryne, or Miss Fisher, if you prefer. Looking at your desk, it appears I can be of assistance.”  


“I can manage, Countess,” Jack’s voice was dripping with acid. “The last thing I need is to be seen with a married noblewoman interfering with my investigations. You can leave now.”  


Come to the house after your shift for cocktails. I had penned an extensive letter to you prior to the wedding explaining things in detail. None of my letters made it to Australia. I can explain everything.”  


Jack waived her off dismissively, “It will be cold day in Hell before I spend time at Wardlow,” the hurt starting to show through the fatigue and the granite façade, “Jane. He bloody adopted Jane!”  


Phryne turned on her heels and stomped out of City South. She knew she had to change tactics. She fired up her Hispano- Suiza and roared back to her bijou house. Time to enlist the heavy artillery, she thought to herself, the Sherman tank known as Dot Collins.

\-----  
At noon that very same day, Dot Collins arrived at City South with a huge picnic basket containing Mr. Butler’s famous egg and bacon pie and potatoes au gratin. Mrs. Butler had baked a homemade baguette while Ruth made a blueberry pie, Jack’s favorite.  


She have her husband a warm but chaste peck as he thanked her for the delicious lunch. She then knocked politely on Jack’s office door.  


As hard-boiled of a detective that is Jack Robinson, one thing he never wanted to encounter---an angry or bellicose Dot Collins. He looked up from his paperwork, shot Dot a tired, closed mouth smile and beckoned her and her basket into his office.  


“Inspector,” Dot began, “I’ve brought a basket of your favorite foods,” she began, and then tantalizingly described each menu item. Jack’s face was drawn, his eye sockets sunken from the lack of proper rest and nourishment. He then peeked under the checkered cloth to the basket. Dot batted his hands away from the food and then threatened,  


“All of this bounty is for you, Inspector,” she began waving her hand toward the delectable contents inside the basket, “but, in order for you to partake, you must come to our house tonight for dinner, cocktails, dessert and a private meeting with Miss Fisher.”  


Jack’s resolve caved and he dug into the basket with great relish.  
\-------  


Jack rode with Hugh to the Fisher residence after their shifts were completed. As calculated by Dot and Phryne, the two men were met at the front door by Jane, who threw her arms enthusiastically around Jack who marveled at the Jane’s transition from gangly schoolgirl in braids to a confident young woman in bejeweled eyeglasses and a shiny, fashionable bob. He placed a chaste kiss on the top of her head and mussed up her hair with affection. In the distance Dot shot a confident look to her Miss, indicative that the first shot fired had a direct hit.  


Jane took Jack by the hand to be greeted by Mr. Butler as Dot and Hugh embraced as a happily married couple. Phryne approached the Inspector with a quiet warmth, knowing he was slightly de-fanged with Jane at his side. Cue to the second hit---Ruth and Tinker entered the parlor, extending greetings to Jack and Hugh and engaging them on constabulary topics. Ruth passed out her famous orange muffins on a tray.  


Dinner went smoothly with all of Phryne’s family engaging Jack with meaningful conversation, including Dr. MacMillan and the red raggers, along with Mr. and Mrs. Butler’s sumptuous cooking. Jack’s expression was warming with each successful forkful of roast chicken and spätzles, a throwback to his childhood Sunday dinners, as his mother was the daughter of Sudentenland Germans who immigrated to Australia in the early 1880’s.  


After dessert, with whisky in hand, Phryne invited Jack into her office under the pretense of needing Jack’s consultation over a business matter. As she sat at her desk, Jack leaned against the top of the roll-top desk and placed his hands in his pockets. How she missed those chiseled cheekbones. His eyes, though tired, reflected the deep blue hue that exposed his true gentle nature. Rather than play the usual tete-a-tete she once so enjoyed with her Inspector, she took an earnest countenance.  


Our partnership, Jack, means everything to me,” Phryne began, taking a sip of her whisky, “I would never in a million years want to hurt you. I’m so sorry I never explained to you the nature of my companionate marriage to Dill.”  


“What in God’s name is a ‘companionate marriage’?” Jack folded his arms and shot a look of quiet resignation.  


Phryne then explained Dill’s nature; her parent’s financial collapse, and how the merger through marriage of the Fisher Somerset estate with Warminster actually sped up Phryne and Jane’s return to Australia.  


“You mean, you did all of this,” Jack made a sweeping gesture, “to get back home from England as quickly as possible?” Phryne nodded, set down her drink, and grabbed Jack’s hands and stroked them gently.  


“I wanted to get back to you, Jack, as quickly as I could. I wanted to move heaven and earth to do so.”  


“Do you want us to go back to where we were?” Jack asked, sincerely surprised.  


More than anything in the world,” Phryne looked deeply into Jack’s face, “Would you like that as well?”  


“I would, Miss Fisher.” Phryne was delighted to hear him address her as before. “Although I need a lot of time to sort all of this out together.”  


Jack, darling,” she reached up to smooth his lapels, “Giving you all the time you need is the least I can do for you. I’m so sorry I’d given you such a fright. It pains me to know I’ve hurt you so.”  


A hint of warmth gently crackled in Jack’s eyes. He then looked into his wristwatch and begged goodnight with great haste. Phryne escorted him out the door, handing him his overcoat and hat. She watched him walk briskly to his car, her expression wistful tinged with hope and regret. 

 


	6. Slow but Steady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne gives Jack a wide berth and finds new interests to fill her time, Dot learns a new skill.

Chapter 6

Phryne eased very slowly back into her Australian existence. She gave her Inspector Jack Robinson a wide berth, not inserting herself into his cases nor constantly pressing for him to visit her socially. It had been a solid three weeks with no real contact with Jack, save for occasional visits with Dot to bring lunch to her new husband, Constable Hugh Collins, at City South Police station.  


She did take on a case of suspected fraud when a horse trainer, employed by a wealthy heiress, sold a string of her show horses, then bought them back under the pretense that they were new show stock. Phryne even went underground, disguising herself as a teenage boy in a wool cap, moleskin trousers and boots, grooming horses and mucking out stalls, enabling her to listen to trainers, veterinarians, fellow grooms, and the owners themselves, as she put it, the “mink and manure” set. After long days with an uncivilized start time, the Countess of Warminster had developed blisters on her hands and feet and a sore back. Dot had begun to run her Miss’s bath with a lot of Epsom salts rather than essence of lavender to ease Phryne’s aches and pains.  


“Working,” Phryne gasped as she lowered herself into her luxurious tub, “is just so bloody hard. How on earth do you manage it, Dot dear?” Dot allowed herself a chuckle.

The ability to successfully eavesdrop, coupled with her newfound knowledge of good horseflesh under Dill’s tutelage, enabled Phryne to successfully solve the case of the fraudulent sale of horses, making her a darling among Melbourne’s horsey set. When not taking on cases revolving around stolen jewels and petty squabbles amongst siblings living on trust funds, Phryne and Jane filled their days establishing a new stable and riding program at Phryne’s Aunt Prudence’s estate at Rippon Lea with its ample pastures, greenery and shade. They teamed together to acquire a string of aging show horses, all impeccably mannered and trained.  


Jane personally instructed Dot Collins in equitation; Dot did not reveal to Hugh that she was learning to ride horses. She was waiting until she mastered the walk, trot and canter to bring Hugh to Rippon Lea to see her progress. Jane had Dot riding Mr. Dancer, an aging but sound Australian Whaler, on a lunge line to learn how to sit and post a trot. Jane came up with an algorithm which calculated that it takes a rider on average nine lessons to get the hang of posting, that is the rising and lowering oneself in rhythm with the horse as he executes the trot and avoiding the uncomfortable and awkward bouncing motion.

“Dot!” Phryne exclaimed as she began to successfully post a trot on her own, “you look marvelous!” she called across the arena. Dot triumphantly parked Mr. Dancer in front of Phryne, who patted his neck and whispered lavisciously, “See Dot, not only is posting liberating and comfortable, your cleavage will also thank you for it as well. Speaking of which, tomorrow I have booked an appointment with my tailor to measure you for a new, custom made riding habit. What do you say to that Dot dear?”  
Dot blushed, “Oh, that’s so wonderful of you Miss, but do I have to wear a Derby?”

“No Dot darling, a new, jaunty cloche would be a perfect complement to your new riding togs.”

Phryne also congratulated Jane on her outstanding coaching, glad for Jane’s burgeoning interpersonal skills. When Phryne was getting to know both Jane and fellow orphan Ruth, she noticed that Jane had an incredible analytical mind and had become the brightest student in mathematics but was lacking in ‘bedside manner’ while Ruth, a hard worker and good student, was an average student but was very empathetic and enjoyed reading train station romance novels. Phryne was concerned that Jane could become a social recluse while she had concerns about Ruth’s future choices in men and feared she might become unwed and pregnant while still a teen. Phryne was pleased that Ruth had such a passion for cooking excellent meals and had been taken in by Mr. and Mrs. Butler, along with Phryne’s friends who owned Café Royale, Melbourne’s little taste of Paris.

As Jane and Dot took Mr. Dancer back to the stables, Phryne continued in her reverie about Jane’s newfound tilt away from shyness and introversion. Earlier that day, both Phryne and Jane had received separate parcels from Dill and Max Rosenthal as Dill was training at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna.

Phryne had received a colorful letter from Dill, congratulating Phryne and Jane for arriving safely in Australia. He had enclosed a photograph taken of himself and Max, dressed in lederhosen, felt hats, and hiking boots, lying prone in a meadow with their heads resting on their hands and their feet crossed behind them, smiling broadly. Dill had written a caption with musical notes, “Vel-da-ri, Vel-da-rah, off I go a-wandering, vel-da-ra-ha-ha-ha-ha.” In the background the Alps are crashing into a mountain lake. Phryne then cattily mused that there is no way two heterosexual men would be in such a pose in a photograph.

Jane had received a very warm and affectionate note from Dill, thanking her for taking him in as her stepdad. He signed her letter as “Dilly Pops”, her nickname for him. He enclosed a photo of himself astride a Lippizzan stallion, executing an impressive piaffe, smiling at the camera and waving his three-brimmed navy blue hat. Jane laughed at the photo and showed Phryne how Dill resembled an officer in Napoleon’s army.

Max, who officially was Dill’s ‘valet’, was finishing his doctorate in mathematics at Oxford University. A lanky young man with an untamed head of dark curls and large eyeglasses, Max had sent to Jane an assortment of cryptograms and puzzles and games he had actually shared with her in England. Jane found Max to be flamboyant, brilliant, yet very funny. He would joke and laugh behind Dill’s back, as if to include Jane on some inside joke; she adored this mock intrigue.  


Several mornings in England Max and Jane would set out on horses to enjoy the sunrise and the cool green expanse of Warminster. Max always let his horse drop his head and graze, which Jane knew was a faux pas, and then he would look mischievously at Jane,

“Your Dilly Pops tells me I let the horses get away with murder.” Max would roll his eyes, “These horses are all so sweet and funny. I don’t want to discipline them, I just want them to have fun too.”

“I can barely stop petting my mare long enough to ride her,” Jane smiled sweetly. As much as she appreciated the training and mentoring from her new stepdad, Jane did enjoy riding out from under Dill’s watchful eye. During a recent hack, Phryne rose unexpectedly early and cantered her horse up to Jane and Max and whispered, “As much as I love my husband, and he is the most magnificent of horsemen, it’s just nice to hook up with you two and just RIDE.”

“Indeed,” Max replied, “Our Dilly Pops can’t turn off the equestrian headmaster that he is.”

“Agreed,” answered Phryne, “sometimes it’s nice not being told that I need to keep my heels down or that I need to bring my shoulders back or that I need to shorten my reins.”  


“Or that you need to sit up straight,” Jane giggled.  


“Or that I need to straighten out my horse’s head while cantering,” Max quipped, “Do you know what Dill said to me then?”  


“Do tell,” Phryne smirked.  


“Dill told me that ‘I know you are ANYTHING but STRAIGHT, but, for God’s sake, you should be able to keep your horse in a STRAIGHT line,” Max tittered while Phryne let loose a cackle that startled the geese nearby.  


“I can better you on that,” Phryne replied, laughter continuing to build in her voice. “Do you know how Dill taught me how to properly sit at the canter rather than raise up in a two-point position over the horse’s back?”  


“I can only imagine,” Max baited.

“Dill asked me to imagine myself in bed with the Inspector, and that I’m on top!” fresh peals of Phryne’s laughter echoed across the fields, while Max guffawed and Jane fought to maintain her balance as her sides were ready to explode once she realized the context of the humor, her naiveté reassuring to her adopted mum.

Snapping herself back to the present, Phryne glanced at her wristwatch and noted she had an appointment later that afternoon with her accountant and financial advisor, Seymour Reuben, who she thought if heaven really existed, its emissary on earth would be Sy Reuben. Middle aged, short, bespectacled, with wavy hair that the strongest pomade could not tame, dedicated father and husband; a man the Countess of Warminster could entrust with her wealth. In addition to paying him a generous salary, she freely administered to Sy huge bonus checks as when her investments performed well. She started an education fund for Sy’s children when the oldest boy had his Bar-Mitzvah.

Phryne enjoyed streams of income from several sources. As soon as she reached adulthood, just prior to joining the Ambulance Corps in France at the start of the First World War, she sued her father, Baron Henry Fisher, for her share of the Somerset estate. She then put it in a trust where, knowing her base instincts and impulsive nature, she could not touch the principle until she turned age 30. Her parents were ones for the falling for every get rich quick scam that came into their orbit. Phryne did not have the attention span for figures and paperwork but was an outstanding judge of character, enabling her to surround herself with detail oriented experts with impeccable levels of integrity and thoroughly adored these qualities in Dot, the Butlers and Sy Reuben.

The tiniest source of Phryne’s wealth was a pension from the French government for her service during the war; in ascending order: the executor’s fee she received from the dissolution of her parents’ estate when she folded the Somerset estate into Warminster Castle; her portion of the Somerset estate from her lawsuit against her father; and finally, the investments stemming from her stint as a dominitrix in an exclusive gentleman’s club in Weimar Berlin from 1925-1927. It even surprised her at the time how lucrative this career was, that there is a lot of money to be made trading in discretion. Over drinks late one night, Mac had asked her if she felt like a prostitute. She cheekily confided to Mac that no genital contact was ever required and that she remained fully clothed, albeit in leather and armor, wielding a dressage whip over the backsides of the German captains of industry. Mac snorted with delight,  


“Imaging those Teutonic masters of the Universe, enjoying a good swatting…finding out the source of their pleasure and pain…was a tiny Australian…who’s half Jewish,” Mac tittered as she took a sip of whisky.  


“Indeed,” Phryne roared with laughter, “and a veteran of the War on the French side!!!”

Sy Reuben advised Phryne to keep her financial portfolio as diversified as possible; stocks during the 1920’s were kept until they doubled in value, then assets moved to more conservative investments. During the summer of 1929, Sy deduced that the boom fueling the world economies was a bubble about to burst and had moved Phryne’s investments away from stocks and into tangible assets such as currencies, metals and a number of real estate holdings in London, New York and Melbourne.  


In Melbourne alone she owned over a dozen furnished luxury apartments in the newly developed downtown business district near gleaming high rise buildings. While not completely immune to the stock market collapse and the ensuing Great Depression, Phryne was in much better financial shape than most members of her social class, the greatest impact was that some of her apartments remained empty due to the lack of well-heeled tenants.

\-----  
“Absolutely dashing!” Phryne exclaimed as she smoothed Dot’s lapels on her new tweed riding jacket while being fitted for new equestrian togs. Dot opted for ankle length laced paddock boots and cuffed jodhpurs, a more conservative look from Phryne’s shiny tall black field boots and breeches. Still, it was quite a scandal for Dot Collins to wear anything resembling trousers. While Phryne always reveled in new sartorial choices for others, she always took it upon herself to acquire new wardrobe items for herself.

After Dot changed back into her cardigan and tan skirt with sensible oxfords, Phryne had herself measured for a black double breasted Savile Row men’s suit with tiny blue pinstripes. She left the tailor shop with two Turnbull and Asser dress shirts, one for her and the other for Tinker, a new fedora, a blue striped silk tie. The men’s outfit would be replete with black and white wing tipped oxford shoes from Italy. Her only concession to feminity would be the pink and lavender argyle socks underneath the wool pinstriped trousers.

When asked by Dot the rationale behind the men’s clothing, Phryne admitted that since she had quit cigarette smoking, coupled with the sumptuous food from the Butlers and the desserts from Ruth, the gown she wore at last week’s charity gala did not fit to her liking. She committed to an exercise regimen that included swims in the natatorium at the university and with Molly in tow, long walks in the neighborhood and beach area in St. Kilda after dinner each night, in the dark. It went without saying that a woman walking alone at night would put herself in grave danger, ergo, Phryne’s solution to that would be to maintain a man’s profile, walking stick in hand, in the dark.  


Dot looked at her Miss with fondness, admiring her for her clever solutions to the obstacles facing her gender. As promised, after dinner later that week, Phryne was fully clad in her masculine attire with Molly in tow headed out the back door of the kitchen for a night walk. Dot looked up from her knitting at the kitchen table as Phryne cocked her fedora jauntily to one side of her head.  


“We’ll be fine, Dot dear,” Phryne pushed her hair behind her ears, adding to the masculine profile, and then opening her jacket to reveal her revolver encased in a holster, “I’ve also got my dagger on the inside of my left sleeve.”

\-----  
The silence from Jack Robinson was deafening to the Countess of Warminster. In almost a month after her return to Australia, the only communication from him was a brief phone conversation concerning the case with the corrupt horse trainer.  


“I delivered that bastard to you at City South on a silver platter”, Phryne groused to herself as she brushed at her hair furiously in front of the mirror in her boudoir. She grimaced as she recalled a conversation earlier that evening with Mac after dinner where she admitted that the two men she adores cannot or will not make love to her.  


“Even with ‘cock’ in the body of your new surname,” Mac snorted, “that is the last thing you’re getting these days! How on earth did you manage that, you infamous root rat!”  


“Ironic, isn’t it?” Phryne retorted, “the infamous Phryne Fisher……celibate!!”

Not one to remain abstinate for more than a month or two, Phryne took decisive action. She was acutely aware that she was easily recognizable by the Melbourne populace, especially after the extensive media coverage of her wedding to the Earl of Warminster. As a legally married woman with a teenage daughter, discretion was of utmost importance. As her heart awaited the presence of Jack Robinson, she did not care to bring gentlemen callers into her home, lest Jack appear unexpectedly at her home to discuss a case, nor to add any instability to the lives of her household.

The following afternoon she took Jane and Dot to Chinatown for dumplings at the restaurant owned and run by Lin Chung’s feisty grandmother. Lin had been Phryne’s consistent lover in years past to the consternation of his grandmother, until Phryne climbed aboard a pirate ship, following the tail of a hungry rat, found Lin bound and gagged with his ear missing. She had been alerted to his plight by having received his severed ear in a mail parcel and went on a daring mission, including a plunge into the filthy waters of Melbourne harbor, to spare his life. She then received the benediction of the grandmother to continue her boudoir activities with Lin, as his concubine, however, Phryne had chosen to relinquish him to an arranged marriage with a young girl from a respectable Chinese family. Lin’s new wife, Camella, turned out to be highly educated, fluent in English and an expert martial artist. Phryne was more than happy to become fast friends with the new Mrs. Lin Chung.  


Knowing Dot and Jane had worked up an appetite while walking through Chinatown, Phryne mischievously swiped the silverware off the table, insisting everyone use chopsticks. Dot sat back in her chair and sighed.  


“If you’re hungry enough,” Phryne chided, “you’ll master chopsticks before the meal is over.”  


At that time, Lin approached the table clad in a double-breasted pin stripe suit from his favorite Bond Street clothier. He bowed and kissed Phryne’s hand,  


“Welcome home, Silver Lady,” Lin smiled broadly, small creases on the sides of his eyes, “you’ve been missed.”  


After exchanging pleasantries and inquiring about Camella, his ‘ninja’ as Phryne affectionately called her, Jane had complete mastery of the use of chopsticks. Dot was using her chopsticks to skewer her bits of chicken and pineapple.  


“Wow, mum,” Jane waved a wonton between chopsticks, “this is delicious. I can really appreciate the dish by eating one small bite at time.”  


“That is the intent of a good stir fry,” Lin interjected, “so that each ingredient can be savored.”  


Phryne discreetly passed a business card to Lin as he departed to make his rounds. It contained on the back, in her elegant script, the address of one of her empty furnished apartments near the business district and a timeframe that she would be occupying as “office hours.”

Two days later, when Lin showed up for “office hours,” Phryne sprung upon him like a caged feline. After a session of athletic lovemaking, Phryne sat up in bed and watched Lin dress, admiring his lithe physique and the way his perfectly tailored Egyptian cotton shirt accented his frame. While straightening his necktie in the mirror of the ensuite bathroom, he looked over his shoulder to a reclining Phryne and quipped,  


“Now, Silver Lady,” he smirked mirthfully, “does that make me your concubine?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies--I cannot post the photo that inspired Dotty to become and equestrian. It is a painting by George Ford Morris of Virginia Penfield riding the Valiant.  
> http://www.bradyhart.com/george-ford-morris-penfield-on-valiant


	7. Dot Saves the Day!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inspector calls upon the Countess of Warminster to assist with protecting a young woman whose life is in danger.

Chapter 7

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson reached inside the top right desk drawer for a fresh handkerchief he handed to the distraught young women seated across from his desk. She graciously accepted, wiped her nose, and continued her description of the stalking and harassment that was escalating from a man whose affections were turned away at the get-go.  


“Thank you Inspector,” she continued, “my name is Lenore Fox. You can just call me Lee—that’s what everyone else does,” she attempted a chuckle while dabbing her eyes. Jack allowed a small closed smile, admitting fellowship with a young woman with a similar sense of humor.  


Jack sat back in his chair and took in the sight of Lee Fox. Mid to late twenties, reddish hair, blue eyes, attractive in a businesslike manner. Nice blue suit, jaunty cloche, sensible shoes. Certainly not a seductress by any means, she could be anyone’s younger sister.  


Lee was working for the GM-Holden factory in Melbourne as a secretary in the front office. Earlier that year, at an office New Year’s Eve party, she allowed a supplier named Gus McGowan to plant a kiss when the clock struck midnight.  
In the days that followed, Lee found all of the accoutrements of wooing at her workstation; flowers, cards, chocolates, notes. Gus appeared from the GM factory in Geelong the next week, pestering her for a dinner reservation. She declined again, again and again.  


“I know your mouth is saying no,” Gus had cooed, “but your eyes say ‘yes’!” He then, in view of her co-workers, grabbed her hand and plastered it with kisses. The office ladies though it was adorable. When Lee had disappeared from the office to go out to the factory floor, her co-workers related to her erstwhile suitor Lee’s address, home phone number, and work schedule.  


Lee found Gus waiting at the factory gates in his red 1928 Holden-Chevy sedan, offering her a lift home. She refused. Later that week, the cards, candies and flowers followed to her flat. The following Friday night, Gus met her at her doorstep with tickets to the cinema. She again politely but firmly refused to go out on date with him.  


“But I adore you!” Gus had pleaded.  


“You don’t even know me!!” Lee slammed the door in his face. He would not take ‘no’ for an answer. In the months that followed, Gus had a way of showing up in Lee’s life, at the grocer’s, at lunch with co-workers. He was becoming increasingly aggressive and actually grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around and groped her near the timeclocks at her job.  


“You’ll be sorry for not being with me,” he growled menacingly in her ear. The following Friday Lee applied for a transfer from the front offices, which were pleasant and comfortable, to a control room deep inside the factory which was noisy and hot. Non-employees would have to pass a security station to get to the factory floor. Unable to get to Lee at her new job, Gus increased his advances at her flat and by following her as she ran her errands. Most recently, he had gained access to her flat and was waiting for her when she arrived home from work. He sprung upon her, threatening to strike her with the receiver of the telephone if she attempted to call for help, and sexually assaulted her. There were no bruises nor semen for her to lob rape charges.  


“I don’t know what else to do,” Lee dabbed her eyes again, “I really think he is going to kill me.”  


Jack let out a tired sigh. Why do some men want to kill women who just say ‘no’?  


“As much as I would love to put a constable at your side,” Jack spoke dejectedly, “I cannot protect you this way. Unfortunately, the law only works after a crime is committed.” Jack reached across to pat Lee’s hand gently as she composed herself. Jack had heard of men acting this way time and again and wished he could protect women himself. He was hoping that women would start carrying weapons and shooting their stalkers, sending a clear message to possessive, controlling and abusive types. As he mulled this over in his head, and idea came though.  


“Collins!” Jack barked, “Ring up Miss Fisher please.”  


Within minutes the sound of clacking heels and a confident gait bounced off the tile walls of City South.  


“Hello Jack!” In a swirl of fur, feathers and French perfume, Phryne extended her hand with an assertive handshake and gave a warm glance toward Lenore Fox, “How can I be of service?” She bowed slightly and removed her kid gloves and gave Lee’s hand a kind squeeze and a quick introduction. Phryne stretched her immaculately dressed frame across the file cabinets and listened intently to Lee’s predicament.  


“I take it Gus is laying low right now after his assault on you,” Phryne began in a gentle coaching voice.  


Lee nodded and admitted that after a major rebuff that Gus would lay low for a period and then start the cycle anew.  


“Generally, Miss Fox,” Phryne surmised, “what really bothers stalkers is when those they torment go on with living their lives to the fullest—without them! Men like Gus feel that if they can’t have you, no one else can nor can you enjoy life. He is a miserable sort and wants you to be as miserable as he is.  


“So I should go to the pictures, to the park and ride my bicycle?” Lee asked, incredulously.  


“Absolutely, except you will be accompanied by new friends and armed to the teeth,” Phryne exclaimed.  


“You mean you would escort me, Miss Fisher?” Lee was puzzled, “Aren’t you a Countess with an estate in England? Isn’t your husband a world famous horseman? Will he be in the Olympics?”  


Jack rolled his eyes at the mention of Dillton Heathcock, the Earl of Warminster.  


“Oh, Lee, dear,” Phryne pulled up a chair and sat down conspiratorially close to Miss Fox, “I am too easily recognizable these days. Seeing me with you would put Gus on high alert. I have members of my team that can easily assist you and keep you safe as we draw the bastard out into the open.”  


“I thoroughly entrust the Countess’s team to help you, Miss Fox,” Jack began with admiration rising in his voice, “I know that Gus is watching every move of yours. Once he sees you having fun with friends, he will come out to attack you, and then, Bobs Your Uncle, we will nail him.”  


“How can I ever repay you Miss?” Lee’s face registered relief, “My income barely covers my living expenses, modest that they are as I have a tiny flat in Richmond.”  


“No worries, Miss Fox. I have a myriad of business ventures. I’m sure I can use your skill set in your off hours as there is always something to be done,” Phryne slipped her business card with her home addressed embossed on the back, “Please join us for dinner tonight at my home at seven o’clock.”  


Phryne rose elegantly and shot Jack a thousand megawatt smile, “I shall take my leave as I need to hold a meeting with my minions to discuss our strategy,” she allowed a regal laugh to escape as the clacked her way down the hallway. In the distance, Jack heard the familiar roar of the Hispano-Suiza as she fired it up from the VIP parking spot in front of the station. A slight peel of rubber was audible from inside the station.  


“Collins,” Jack called toward the sentry station at the front entrance, “Please accompany Miss Fox on the tram to Miss Fisher’s residence this evening. Every move of Miss Fox’s is being watched by her attacker. I would recommend taking the tram past Wardlow and exiting at the next stop, and then accessing the house from the rear alleyway.”  
“Right away, sir,” Hugh replied, sending a comforting smile toward Miss Fox.  
\---------------  


Phryne was greeting by the aroma of a berry pie baking in the kitchen. She followed the aroma where she found Ruth and the Butlers prepping for the evening menu. A sappy soap opera was playing on the wireless where a spurned suitor was begging for the affections of a young woman.  


“I can’t live without you,” the actor had whined to the woman. Phryne walked up and sharply changed the station to a station playing Louis Armstrong. She then looked at Ruth and quipped,  


“Ruth, dear, please show me the most recent reading material at your disposal, provided it is not a cookbook.”  


Ruth produced a romance paperback purchased at a magazine stand at the train station. Phryne leafed through the cheap novel and shoved it unceremoniously across the kitchen table.  


“Pure rubbish,” Phryne exclaimed, “I just hate how our popular culture, be it films, radio or print, celebrates the male suitor resorting to threatening suicide, or god forbid, violence to woo a girl. Love between a man and woman is mutual and respectful.”  


“Don’t you find Romeo and Juliet romantic, Miss Phryne?” Ruth asked.  


“No, it’s not realistic or healthy.” Phryne quipped and then pulled Ruth into the parlor and whispered in hushed tones, “Ruth darling, do you find it wonderful to read of the love between a man and a woman?” Ruth nodded bashfully. “Well then, now that you are eighteen, I shall show you my private library in my boudoir. Enough with this cheap sentimental shit! Let’s start you with D.H. Lawrence and then on to my, ahem, less than legal collection. A woman must never feel pressured by a man to accept his attentions.”  


A few minutes later Phryne was joined by Jane and Dot, dressed in jodhpurs and polo jumpers, as they were dropped off by Cec and Bert in their taxicab after an afternoon at the newly minted Rippon Lea Riding Academy and Stables. Jane was taking time from her studies by not enrolling in courses over June, July and August to establish the riding academy, work the new puzzles from Max, and to shadow Dr. Elizabeth MacMillan on her rounds at the Women’s Hospital. Jane was finding that her original career choice of physician was not what she really wanted; while the forensics and coroner workload of Dr. MacMillan was fascinating, the interaction with living patients was very draining on her. She preferred the quiet perfection of mathematics.  


After Jane showered and changed for dinner, she admitted to her adoptive mum that she feared Phryne would be disappointed in the change to her career plans. She finished fixing her hair in her mum’s boudoir, after giving Molly a pat and Ember a scratch under his chin, as both pets, dog and cat, reclined on Phryne’s big bed with their butts touching each other like an old married couple.  


Phryne gave Jane’s shoulders a squeeze and ran a brush through her hair.  


“Who am I to judge what a young woman ought to pursue as a career,” Phryne soothed, “as long as you don’t plan on living in a Collingwood shanty with five children by age twenty-three with a man who only beats you when sober,” Phryne allowed a laugh to escape, “I’m happy with any alternative!”  
\---------------  


After the Butlers cleared the detritus of a fine dinner, Phryne chaired a meeting at her dining room table with Lee Fox, Dot, Hugh, Jane, Ruth, Tink, Bert and Cec to discuss a strategy in drawing out Miss Fox’s tormentor and bringing him to justice.  


Phryne agreed to use her familial link to the GM Fisher-Body division in Michigan to ingratiate herself to the plant manager of the Holden-GM factory to secure unpaid internships for Tink (on the assembly line), Dot (in the front offices) Jane in the control room to shadow Miss Fox, and for Ruth in the canteen. Thus, Miss Fox would now have befriended these “new” co-workers and would be seen leaving the factory by Gus McGowan with a gaggle of pals.  


As the undercover mission would progress, and the failure of Miss Fox’s new entourage to draw out her attacker, Bert had agreed to wear a jacket and tie and accompany Miss Fox on evening dates to the picture show, dinners, and sunset walks along the boardwalk. Bert, of course, would be armed to the teeth and on high alert for any action.

As weeks progressed, Miss Fox was able to discreetly identify the presence of Gus to her new companions as he lurked in the shadows, often sitting across the room from them in a popular cafeteria. She also spotted him watching them enjoy a Saturday afternoon at Luna Park. While not confronting Lee Fox in the presence of the group, Gus did break into her flat and left threatening notes and took random objects and repositioned them around her flat. As directed by Miss Fisher, Lee never ventured into her flat alone and was always accompanied by Dot Collins, who recently became proficient with her new Mauser pistol, having extensive range experience and training. The new firearm fit discreetly underneath her cable knit cardigan sweater with a leather holster.

As Miss Fox went about living her life to the fullest with her new companions, she actually developed lasting friendships with Miss Fisher’s minions. At the factory, she ate lunch with Dot, Tink, Ruth and Jane and became fascinated with Dot’s new marriage, Tink’s desire for a career in law enforcement, Ruth’s passion for cooking and baking and was enthralled when Jane explained her transition from guttersnipe to junior countess. Lee was taken aback by the sheer adoration these young people had for Miss Fisher.  


As Lee became more relaxed, she revealed a wicked sense of humor and a great capacity for mimicry and sarcasm. When teased or laughing, her tag line became, “Oh, for God’s sake!!” as she took a drag from her cigarette and a swig from her bottomless cup of coffee. 

To keep Lee safe at her flat, Ruth and Tink, posing as siblings, took up residence at Miss Fox’s flat in under the guise of helping out with her expenses. As the flat was equipped with a second bedroom, and the living area equipped with a Murphy bed, it was not uncommon for three young people to share a small flat as the Great Depression gathered its grip on Australia’s economy in 1930.  


On a recent evening at Wardlow, Jack Robinson dropped by after dinner for a cocktail and was interested in how Miss Fox’s situation was developing. He had a great deal of admiration for the young woman’s courage in coming forward and seeking the help of law enforcement to rid herself of the attentions of a mentally unstable man.  


“So many women have to suffer in silence,” Phryne mused to Jack over a whiskey, “Sometimes the only end to this is her murder.”  


“I can see why so many women are so indirect in their intentions,” Jack thoughtfully took a sip of his drink, “Are they tip toeing around the anger and violence of men?”  


“It was like that with Rene DuBois,” Phryne replied, “I never knew what I was walking into when I came home each day to our flat in Paris. There were times I was greeted with warmth and affection and other times I would duck as I opened the door to avoid being hit by a flying paintbrush. I soon realized it was easier to be homeless than to worry about the mood swings of a deranged man. It was easier to figure out where I was going to sleep or how I was going to scrounge up something to eat than to deal with a mercurial disposition at home.”  


Jack’s imagination allowed him to see a young Phryne Fisher, at twilight in Paris, walking the streets on the west bank of the Seine as lights were coming on in warm homes, looking for a place to lay her head. In his line of work, he had witnessed the spark go out of the eyes of abused women, as if the only purpose of their existence was to bear the brunt of the bestiality of cruel fathers, brothers and husbands. He could not fathom that at one time, this powerful, confident, magnificent woman would have found herself in such fearsome straits.  
\------  
Bert Johnson was actually enjoying his new undercover assignment as the suitor of Miss Lee Fox. He found her a source of fascination; he found her small frame and reddish hair most adorable and that underneath this petite exterior was a razor-sharp intellect and bawdy sense of humor. While Miss Fox did not share the same political views as Bert, her comments did give him pause. While eating ice cream in a parlor, Bert started in on his usual diatribe on the inevitable communist revolution,  


“Yair, once the revolution takes place, all of us can eat ice cream,” Bert started.  


“And,” Lee took a drag on her cigarette, “there will be a chicken in every pot,” she snorted with all sarcasm intended, “the only thing that revolutions bring about is the murder of innocent people. The corrupt monarchs may be gone, but they are replaced by corrupt party leaders. Same corruption, same misery, different titles. And you know what? Look how rich our politicians are. Do you think they really live on their ‘public servant’ salaries? Hell, they make more than the owners of GM and Ford!”  


On the same vein, Lee did admit to Bert that the unionization of the workers at the GM Holden plant did a lot to ease working conditions and that workers, especially on the assembly lines, needed to take their breaks and lunches to simply give their feet a rest from the hard concrete of the factory floor. She also pointed out that these well- paying union jobs were raising the standard of living all around, noting the rows of new bungalows recently constructed throughout Richmond.  


Bert also agreed with Lee that when workers toil so hard for their wages, as they do at GM Holden, they should be entitled to keep what they earn.  


“See!” Lee exclaimed, “Even you, Bert, are a capitalist at heart!”  


Bert had every intention of courting Miss Fox once Gus McGowan was neutralized, and sensing Lee’s casual demeanor, correctly assessed she felt the same way. He was committed, though, in offering her a wide berth to recover from the torment she endured from McGowan, even if it took months for her to come around.  


Miss Fisher was right, Bert mused, thinking of his short fling he had with Phryne when she first moved back to Melbourne and bought him and Cec their new taxicab. Bert had never been in a committed relationship with a woman and Phryne took it upon herself to become his “boudoir tutor,” in her words.  


When he first balked at the idea of sleeping with his new employer, (“gawd, what a capitalist thing to do”) she soothed his concerns by having him imagine falling in love with a lovely girl in the future and being able to please her in every way imaginable. When he was still reluctant, she patted the back seat of the cab, beckoning him to join her. When she kissed him passionately and guided his hand along her knees, suggesting he explore further, she whispered in the dialect of her childhood in poverty,  


“Yair, mate, I ain’t no toff, just a little tart from Collingwood.”  


Bert’s hand found the top to her stockings and felt the lace of her garter. The loss of blood from his brain to a more sordid part of his anatomy nearly caused him to pass out and hit his head on the back of the driver’s seat in his own taxicab. As Phryne quietly stroked his medium brown hair, she mused to herself that if the British Fisher male cousins had survived the Anglo-Boer war, that at best she would have become a barmaid in Richmond, and that a man like Bert would be the best she could do.  
As he parked his taxi in front of his rooming house, he paused to gaze at the back seat of the car and muttered to himself,  


“If only those seats could talk…what a scandal!”  
\------  
After a pause in his tactics, Gus McGowan was now spotted in the dark watching Lee Fox go about her life. As planned, her dates with Bert became more frequent and with a predictable pattern.  


On this particular Saturday, Gus watched from afar when Lee’s new “gang” played several rounds of mini-golf, a new craze, in St. Kilda. Later, Bert and Lee broke off from the “gang” and went to dinner and a picture show. They were spotted walking to Lee’s flat, holding hands and stealing kisses along the way.

Enraged, Gus McGowan circled the block in his Chevy, parked directly behind Lee’s apartment building, and climbed the fence and waited beside the front door to her flat. At the same time, Dot, who was preparing for Hugh’s birthday on Sunday, had ensconced herself in Lee’s flat earlier that evening in order to prepare Hugh’s presents in secrecy which included a new fishing pole, a tackle box and a pair of rubber boots (a nod to a previous gift of rubber boots from Hugh earlier in their courtship) and was knitting a fishing cap with a visor when she heard voices outside the flat. She then hid herself in the back bedroom just off the kitchenette, pressing her hand against the Mausar sheathed inside her cardigan sweater.  


Gus directed every sort of profanity toward Bert and Lee, and began a shoving match with Bert as Lee opened up the apartment, which appeared to be dark and empty. Once Lee turned around, Dot caught a glimpse of Gus swinging at Bert, who blocked his blows as both men fell into the apartment. Lee, as directed, ran to the telephone in her salon and rang Jack Robinson’s direct extension. Dot then silently crept from the bedroom into the kitchen and ducked beneath the counter of the galley-style kitchenette, unseen by everyone in the apartment.

Within minutes she heard the sound of the police car and the screeching of tires from the cab piloted by Cec, as Cec, Tink, Jane and Ruth bounded up the walk to the flat.  


In the skirmish with Bert, Gus was able to seize Bert’s gun and grabbed Lee, spun her around and placed the barrel of the pistol at Lee’s temple. 

“One more move, and she’s gone!” Gus exclaimed as Bert raised his hands. As the rest of the minions entered the flat, they were ordered by Gus to stay out. To show his seriousness, he quickly turned the gun on Bert and shot him directly in the shoulder.  


“I’ll bloody kill the lot of you!” Gus exclaimed, his other hand digging painfully into Lee’s neck.  


In the commotion, Gus saw Hugh racing toward the apartment, gun drawn, causing Gus to remove the gun from Lee’s head and take another shot. At that moment, another shot rang out from the kitchen, Gus’s eyes went wide, his pistol fell from his hand and he collapsed to the floor. Behind him stood Dot Collins, Mausar in hand, its barrel smoking. Dot coolly walked over to Gus, saw that he was alive, and fired another shot into his chest to finish him off. She then calmly placed the Mauser back inside her cardigan and bent down to assist Lee and Bert who was writhing in pain. She then removed her sweater and twisted it into a makeshift tourniquet for Bert’s bleeding gunshot wound.  


“Dottie!” Hugh exclaimed as he placed his gun back into its holster, “Are you alright?”  


Not caring of the crowd that was gathering into the apartment, Hugh flung his arms around his wife and held her for several moments as Jack and Phryne came upon the scene and called for an ambulance. Phryne then went into triage mode, assuring Bert that he would recover from his injuries with top-notch care from Dr. MacMillan, and then securing the scene so that Jack and Hugh could expedite the investigation process. Phryne then hugged Lee and offered a guest room in her home for as long as she needed to regain her equilibrium after this stressful time.  


As the civilians began leaving the scene, allowing the ambulance crew and the policemen to take over, Phryne had a private moment with Dot on the lawn in front of the building, who had been shaking and now had a dazed expression.  
“Dot, dear, you were magnificent!” Phryne embraced Dot heartily, “Your quick actions saved a lot of lives, of that I’m certain.”  


“Thanks Miss,” Dot replied wearily, “I had to do it. I had to finish him Miss……If he had talked in a courtroom….I believe he would have turned things around to make Miss Lee and Bert look like criminals. Did you know that very few men who kill their women do not hang but almost all women who kill their abusive men get prosecuted to the full extent of the law? I had to silence Mr. McGowan.”  


“Dot, there is no need to explain,” Phryne began, “I just want you to be allright….in the war….I had to kill a German sniper who had made his way into our dugout. I had to kill him silently as to not betray our triage location in the trenches to the Germans. I could not use my service revolver.”  


“What did you do?” Dot reached for her handkerchief to blot her eyes that were now filling with tears.  


“I garroted him with a piece of wire from the fencing,” Phryne replied, “I have nightmares to this day.”  


“But you saved a bunch of Allied soldiers and nurses,” Dot blew her nose.  


“As you did tonight,” Phryne planted a gentle kiss on Dot’s forehead while inserting her arm into Dot’s arm and gently leading her to Bert and Cec’s taxicab, “If you ever need to talk about this, I am here for you.”

\-------  
In the weeks that followed, Bert made a quick recovery from his shoulder wound and was ordered to bed rest under the threats and intimidation from Dr. Mac. Most of his recovery time took place at Wardlow, where Miss Fox was staying until she could find other living arrangements. She brought him reading material that included books by Adam Smith and Joseph Schumpeter, a counter balance to the writings of Marx and Engel. They also spent evenings in Phryne’s kitchen playing cards with Cec and his new bride, Alice, while Inspector Robinson was becoming a frequent visitor in Phryne’s parlor, sharing cocktails and discussing case details, benefitting from Miss Fisher’s incisive intellect. Members of her loving household trading knowing glances, happy to see the Inspector and Miss Fisher working together again, hopefully re-establishing the equilibrium of their partnership before Phryne’s sudden flight to London with her father the previous year.


	8. Horsewear as High Fashion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two detectives bond over trekking on horseback, picnics, and a daring rescue of two boys at sea.

Chapter 8

Newly wed and recently promoted Senior Constable Hugh Collins gave pause several times each day to reflect that he, in the entire history of male-female relationships, was the most happily married man in the entire universe. Thoughts of his new bride, Dot, never left his mind and it was his quest to make her feel respected, admired, adored and worshipped. Hugh never let this goal out of his sight, not once during the seventy-one years of marriage. Both Dot and Hugh would live to see the new century and its marvels of computers and cell phones.  


At the behest of Miss Fisher, Dot was now taking correspondence college level courses with extensive reading lists, which on occasion Hugh took upon himself to review so that he could stretch his intellect as well. Dottie, in a most polite and genial manner, was able to challenge Hugh’s mindsets and polish his oral and written communication skill sets. Hugh was aware that he had experienced more personal growth since meeting Dorothy Williams than in the previous twenty two years of his life.  


The next step in his goal for self-improvement was to become the husband, partner, and peer that Dottie deserves. He memorized her preferences for food, entertainment, and for the pleasures of the boudoir. He prided himself secretly that they were enjoying a wondrous physical relationship and that their lovemaking had become so creative that it did not put Dottie at risk for pregnancy. In fact, it pleased him so when at the sound of his footsteps bounding up the stairs to the top floor of Miss Fisher’s home, that Dot would put down her book, jump up, and sprint to the door of their little efficiency apartment, grabbing Hugh by the lapels and pinning him against the door, plastering kisses and messing up his hair. He reflected often how Dot took it upon herself while Miss Fisher was in England, to commandeer Phryne’s boudoir and sumptuous bath for their own adventures. When Hugh initially resisted Dot’s suggestions that they frolic chez Phryne, Dot explained that it would be she, and only she, to tidy up and launder the boudoir. In fact, while embracing Miss Fisher outside the church following her nuptials to Hugh, that Phryne suggested that she and Hugh make use of it, and how the bathtub fits two adults in luxurious comfort!  


Hugh had become accustomed to Dot’s sleeping habits as well. Early to rise, moving through the day’s activities as warp speed, multitasking, running a household, filling in on detective duties, visiting the stables at Rippon Lea, then taking a bath after dinner and falling dead asleep within minutes and sleeping a sound eight hours like a rock.  


Since the Gus McGowan incident, Hugh was waking up in the middle of the night alone, and then spotting Dot sitting, in silence, gazing out the window of the turret on the top floor of Wardlow. It pained him to see his beloved bride unable to secure a decent night’s sleep.  


Hugh decided to approach Jack Robinson during his shift, as each day Jack would enquire as to how Dottie was feeling.  


“I’m sorry Mrs. Collins is so unsettled,” Jack replied, “I wish I could do something to help.”  


He then contacted Mr. Butler at Wardlow on the phone, and was told Miss Fisher, Jane and Dot were riding horses at Aunt Prudence’s estate. And so it would be, a nightcap with Miss Fisher later that night after his evening shift. As Mr. Butler placed the receiver into the cradle of the telephone, he made a mental note to prepare ham, mustard and pickle sandwiches later that evening as the dinner dishes would be cleared.  
\------  


Later that evening, over sandwiches and lager, Jack briefed Phryne on Hugh’s concern for Dottie’s mindset following the McGowan shooting and discussed a strategy to improve Dot’s mental outlook.  


“I will have Jane take Dot to the stables each day,” Phryne began, “she seems to really enjoy the brushing, grooming and handling of the horses as well as the riding aspect.”  


“I’ve always found just being around horses relaxes me,” Jack interjected, “Is Dot’s mood much better after being around the barn?”  


“Yes, she is much more relaxed. Actually she is becoming a very accomplished rider. Hugh knows nothing about this—Dot wants to surprise Hugh with her horsemanship. She can now take a horse through their gaits with confidence. She is now riding Lindy, an adorably spirited high-stepping Thoroughbred/Hackney cross who can still be shown under saddle. In a few weeks there will be a fun horse show at Aunt P’s for both the regular riders and the Collingwood camp students. Can you imagine Aunt P tut-tutting over the Collingwood urchins riding in donated breeches, boots, shad belly coats and top hats? Such fun!”  


“Let me know, Miss Fisher, the particulars of the horse show. I’d love to watch, especially Jane and Dot. Did I also hear that Dr. MacMillan will be riding?”  


“Mac will be doing a demonstration of riding over fences on the new hunt course, and then, Mr. Butler will demonstrate the basics of polo. Why don’t you do a demonstration on mounted police work?”  


“Oh, Miss Fisher,” Jack took a swig of lager and looked at Phryne wistfully, “I would love to start riding again for relaxation. But I’m in no condition to be seen riding in public. I just haven’t ridden since the war when I was on cavalry patrol in Beersheba.”  


“Well, we will have to fix that, won’t we Inspector,” Phryne demurred, “We now have the stables at Aunt P’s with fantastic retired show horses. I’ve also been helping out with a friend I met awhile back at the Last Great Party of 1928 who runs an all-girl polo team. She has a knockabout stable in Frankston—we can ride off-duty polo ponies at the beach. She has an exquisite little mare, a Peruvian Paso Fino, who has the most fantastic of gaits. Would you like to go for a beach ride, Inspector?”  


Jack set down his drink and food and looked thoughtfully and deeply into Phryne’s eyes.  


“I would really love that, Miss Fisher. In fact, I am due some time off from the station. Let’s set up a time next week.”  


“The pleasure would be mine,” Phryne cast a sweet, warm smile toward Jack.  


“On another subject, “Jack took a bite out of his second ham, mustard and pickle sandwich, “This McGowan fellow was from Geelong, which is out of my jurisdiction…”  


“No worries, Jack dear, I can head out that way this week and have a poke around,” Phryne patted Jack’s arm, “I’m sure I can find a pattern of his abuse of women, perhaps an ex-wife who was frightened of him.”  


“Then we can sit Dot down and tell her that she has been responsible for saving humanity from additional violence from McGowan. Hopefully that knowledge will provide her with some comfort. By the way, has she been consulting with her priest?”  


“Father O’Leary?” Phryne snorted.  


“Surely he would understand Mrs. Collins’ actions,” Jack began, “especially as she saved her loved ones from harm. I can’t imagine the Church having a problem with that.”  


“Jack, Dot’s priest should have no problem with her using her pistol. He’s IRISH for crying out loud!”  
\----  


As expected, Phryne found a terrified ex-wife of Gus McGowan and a number of women in the Geelong area that felt themselves in danger after associating with Gus. Phryne’s eye for detection helped link the disappearance of three additional women to the acquaintance of Mr. McGowan.  


“I just knew you were the right ‘man’ for the job,” Jack smiled as he discussed case specifics with Phryne while sitting in her parlor, waiting for Dot, Ruth and the Butlers to clean up after a dinner of ravioli and salad, as Ruth was learning to master Italian cuisine. Dessert was to be a cassata cake with a strawberry ganache filling topped with whipping cream. Phryne requested dessert to be served on the heavy wooden kitchen table with just herself, Jack and Dot.  


“This cake is pure genius,” Phryne hugged Ruth, “what is that special ingredient?”  


“Almond extract, which I rendered myself,” Ruth beamed. Then, as if mental telepathy were in play, the Butlers nodded to Ruth and she departed with three plates toward the dining room, leaving Jack, Phryne and Dot alone in the kitchen.  


Dot busied herself making cups of tea. Phryne patted the empty wooden chair next to her.  


“Sit, Dot,” Phryne ordered, with great affection in her voice. When Dot brought over the tea set, she sat down and immediately Phryne and Jack gently began to stroke each hand.  


“The Inspector and I have found that Mr. McGowan may have caused the demise of several other women,” Phryne began as Jack gazed with brotherly affection toward Dot, “and that your swift actions not only spared Miss Fox, Bert and possibly Jane, Ruth and your husband…”  


“Miss Collins, you certainly have kept McGowan from hurting anyone else,” Jack interjected, “if it were up to me I would award you the Croix de Guerre for your heroic actions. I am so proud of you and so happy that Hugh has you as his wife and partner.”  


Dot dabbed her eyes with a napkin and hugged both Phryne and Jack.  


“We know how traumatizing it is to end someone’s life,” Phryne began, “and we both want to be here for you.” Dot nodded and smiled sweetly. She later reflected how happy it made her to see Jack and Phryne working and being together again, for it seemed to restore equilibrium to the household.  


As Jack gathered his hat, he spoke softly to Dot as he was leaving about the upcoming horse show.  


“I won’t miss your class for the world,” Jack smiled sweetly at both Phryne and Dot.  


“Yes Dot, I will also retire at this reasonable hour so we can be at the stables in the morning. Goodnight, Inspector,” Phryne watched him depart from the front door of her home, and remained in the doorway to wave at him as he fired up his police car.

\---------  


Jack’s sister, Catherine, noticed that he was not at home quite as early in the evenings in recent weeks. She correctly suspected he was making a detour most evenings at Mrs. Heathcock’s residence, under the pretense of discussing police matters, however, Jack was making every effort to be home before she started her night shift as a factory secretary.  


Her baby, James, was sleeping more soundly and Catherine increasingly found Jack in a chipper mood most mornings when she returned from her shift. There was a certain spring to his step, which he pooh-poohed as the improvement in the coffee he brewed each morning. He actually had bothered to take off an entire weekend, both Saturday and Sunday. He took the older children, Mary Beth and Matthew, kite flying on Saturday and then took all of the children, with James in the pram, to the ice cream parlor, where he ran into Ruth, Jane and Tinker, who were eating their ice cream outdoors to keep their dog Molly in good company. She too had her own ice cream cone without the watchful eye of Phryne, who would have railed at the kids for causing Molly to have diarrhea on the dining room rug. As Phryne’s charges walked home, they were wondering about the children with Jack.  


“Those children, they look like the Inspector,” Jane surmised, “Do you suppose he married and had a family somewhere?”  


“I’ve never heard the Guv speak of that,” Tink replied while taking Molly on her leash.  


“Neither have I” Ruth added.  


“Should we say something when we get back?” Jane asked.  


“I don’t think so,” Ruth replied, “I mean, Miss Phryne got married. I’m sure she and the Inspector have an understanding.”  
\---------  


On Sunday, Jack arrived in the late morning (for him, not Phryne) at Wardlow in his Army issue khaki riding breeches, boots and a tweed jacket with white shirt and stock tie and his usual fedora.  


Phryne greeted him with a casual riding habit of a tweed jacket with suede elbow patches, tan breeches and tall light brown field boots, topped with a navy blue derby cocked jauntily at one side.  


“Why Inspector,” Phryne purred, “Aren’t you wearing a cravat? I thought we hate men in cravats,” she snorted in delight.  


“It’s not a cravat, Miss Fisher,” Jack growled with mock grouchiness, “It’s a stock tie. In case someone gets injured while riding, it can serve as a bandage, or a tourniquet.”  


“Just joshing,” Phryne exclaimed, “Mr. Butler has brioche waiting for you for brunch.”  


After brunch and coffee, Phryne drove Jack to Frankston at breakneck speed in the Hispano-Suiza. The stables near the beach, while basic and primitive, were clean and orderly. Phryne assigned Jack to Sir Sylvester, a huge, black Hanoverian gelding that stood at 17 hands. A gelding cut later in life, he had a chiseled masculine face and a long, thick neck and simply looked like a stallion. He had been trained as a jumper and dressage competitor but had since retired and was used for beach and trail rides. Sir Sylvester was a ‘push button’ horse; when his rider simply planned to do a particular gait or movement, he simply performed it before any signal from the rider was given.  


“Jack, darling,” Phryne handed him a curry comb and brush, “We think we’ve figured out Sir Sylvester. He just simply lives 2 to 3 seconds into the future and is able to see what the rider will want or need before it happens. I really think he will be the perfect re-introduction to riding for you.”  


Once Jack was underway with the grooming rituals of Sir Sylvester, Phryne brought in from the field a spitfire of a tiny bay mare, almost pony sized, named Lola whose parents were imported from Peru.  


“You get to ride the Mr. Butler of horses,” Phryne giggled, “I’m going to ride this headstrong little tot from South America,” she patted Lola’s nose affectionately. The little mare then rested her face on Phryne’s shoulder and gave her kisses.  


Both mounts were tacked up with Jack choosing a soft black English dressage saddle and Phryne riding in an Australian Stock saddle from the Syd Hill saddlery in Brisbane as it best fit the geometry of Lola’s back and withers and with its loops, snaps and straps, enabled Phryne to bring everything but the kitchen sink aboard the saddle as a picnic on the beach was planned toward the end of the ride.  


As they explored the bush and then descended to the beach, Phryne marveled at how quickly Jack regained his confidence in the saddle. His seat became more secure and his hands quieted. When they cantered on the beach, Jack’s face registered pure relaxation and joy with the fresh salt air hitting his face. He looked ten years younger.  


Jack was enthralled watching Lola execute her paso largo, which was actually faster than her canter. He enjoyed riding behind Phryne where he could watch Lola’s paddling motion of her front feet as she executed her four beat single-foot gait. He was also enjoying watching Phryne’s back and shoulders and behind, especially when the wind caught hold of her jacket and blew it above her breeches. He mused how he could stare at her bottom all day, and that was a more commanding view than that of the bay, cliffs and beaches.  


“I’m leering at the backside of a married woman,” Jack thought to himself, “I think I’m losing my mind.”  


He steeled himself to focus on his horsemanship, the splendid scenery, the wind in his face, and was looking forward to lunch at the tie rails on a bluff overlooking Port Phillip Bay.  


When they stopped at the tie rails for a picnic, Jack helped Phryne unpack the baskets that were affixed to the cantle of her Australian saddle. Phryne then unbridled the horses, placed halters and long lead ropes, giving them ample space at the tie rails to graze in comfort, a gesture of kindness and consideration for equine companions that impressed Jack Robinson.  


During a lunch spread on an older Hudson Bay blanket, Jack thanked Phryne for this opportunity to be around horses again and simply ride for pleasure, not for mounted police work nor cavalry during war time.  
Between bites of scone, fruit, cheese and swigs of cold lemonade, Phryne and Jack shared how they had learn to ride in their youths; Phryne with the Duke of Beaufort, the master of fox hunting in England, while Jack learned to ride as a young constable in Melbourne.  


Phryne asked Jack about the framed photograph in his office of a rider less horse in military tack.  


Jack started from the beginning, “Do you know how Hugh looks at Dottie? There was a young soldier riding with us at the Beersheba campaign against the Ottoman Turkish mounted forces. His biggest fear was that he would forget the sight and sound of his girl back in Australia. He looked at her photograph incessantly and spoke of her every chance he could. I envied his ability to love a girl so wholeheartedly.”  


“Do you mean you did not carry such feelings while apart from Rosemary?” Phryne took a sip of lemonade from an insulated bottle.  


“I just simply did not mind being away from my wife,” Jack admitted, “and then, in Palestine, I found an outlet for my affections.”  


‘You had an affair with another women,” Phryne answered, “The first casualty of war is often marriage.”  


“Not a woman, per se,” Jack countered, “she was 16 hands tall, had a mane, tail and hooves,” Jack allowed a chuckle, “An Australian Whaler with some draught blood for stoutness. A big bodied bay mare with smooth gaits and a great disposition. Her name was Ellie--we all really liked her—she had impeccable ground manners and was fearless around gunfire. When she was eventually assigned to me, I was ecstatic.”  


“Is that her picture in your office?” Phryne asked.  


“Yes, I took it myself,” Jack continued, “this magnificent mare made us all feel so loved,” Jack admitted, and then leaned toward Phryne and sheepishly added, “I have a pocket watch with a tiny portrait of her face.”  


Phryne patted her chest over her heart, “They really can get to you, Jack, your reaction is really normal.”  


“I feel giddy like a schoolgirl when I think about Ellie,” Jack admitted, conspiratorially, “we used to love to watch her eat. She took enormous pleasure from her grain and hay—her eyes would roll back into her head when she took her first bites of sweet feed.”  


Well, Inspector, your secret is safe with me,” Phryne soothed while taking a bite from an apple. 

“My best friend when we moved to England was a Spanish Jennet mare named Blanca as she was grey with coal black markings around her eyes and nostrils. When I had gotten kicked out of one of the many boarding schools-- I think it was because I went totally blotto and beat up two girls who were torturing a stray dog on the school grounds. That’s how I met Dill—he adopted the stray mongrel I brought home on the train from school, with my dispatch folder in tow.” Phryne smiled at the recollection.  


“Each morning during school holiday Dill would ride over to our estate and I would saddle up Blanca and we would ride all over the countryside and into the town.” Phryne’s mood darkened and she continued, “I took care of Blanca myself, grooming, tacking, holding her for the farrier, watching her eat. Then one morning I went out to the pasture to bring her in. She was down and I could not get her to rise. Colic had overtaken her and she twisted her intestines trying to get rid of the blockage.”  


“Oh God, colic is still such a scourge,” Jack gazed into Phryne’s eyes with empathy, “I’m so sorry Phryne. This still hurts to this day, doesn’t it?”  


“I was there when Blanca was shot in order to end her misery. She was only eight years old. When I sit and think about it even now, I get teary-eyed. That was clearly the moment between childhood and adulthood for me. Then, two days later when Dill was home from school, he rode over to our estate while leading with a cute Fell Pony named Gigi for me to ride and love.”  


Jack nodded. He was starting to realize the depth of the affection between Dill and Phryne.  


“Dill and I rode every morning he was home from school. Then, as a project in his art class, he did an oil painting of Blanca for me.”  


“So that’s the painting of the grey horse in the hallway of your parlor,” Jack surmised.  


“That painting, along with the Sarcelles, has been with me everywhere I’ve lived.”  


Phryne rose and passed out Anzac biscuits to the grazing horses at the tie rail. She and Jack began to speak of the war; Jack lost touch with Ellie once the Allies decided the Beersheba campaign was a success and then shipped Jack’s unit to France, to the mud and trenches of the Somme, this time as foot soldiers. He then spoke of foot rot from the dampness.  


“The worst of it was the latrine,” Jack admitted taking a bit of biscuit, “One time after breakfast several of us were making use of it, five or more soldiers sitting on the plank, when suddenly it gave way and we all fell backwards into the pit. We had to be fished out by our boots.”  


“Oh, how dreadful!” Phryne exclaimed with a queasy laugh, “it’s not like you could bathe in the spas at Baden-Baden afterwards,” Phryne had sat back down on the blanket and had crossed her feet and wrapped her arms around her knees, “The worst for me was trying to bathe in a few inches of water in pan on the floor of the field hospital behind a curtain. The water was cold and dark brown from the filth oozing from my pores. There I was, naked and shivering, and the chief surgeon pulled back the curtain in front of patients, nurses and twenty other people, asking me if I had seen his pen,” Phryne threw her head back in laughter. “Mind you, this was a man with a wife and mistress back home, you know, the typical Frenchman. Oblivious to my youthful nakedness,” fresh peals of laughter erupted from Phryne, as Jack’s heart lurched at the sight of Phryne sitting on the blanket in breeches and brown field boots, guffawing loudly. It had never occurred to him to retell the latrine debacle with anyone, especially a woman. His ex-wife would have been mortified at this anecdote.  


Once the laughter died down, Jack quietly asked Phryne as to Dill’s role in the war. Dill, due to his effete mannerisms, had been ostracized by a cruel superior officer who took delight in assigning the most difficult and undesirable tasks to the future Earl of Warminster. Jack listened intently as Phryne related several incidents of hazing, bullying and how serving in the British Army was a harrowing experience for Dill. Jack knew that Phryne was leading up to something terrible for Dill to endure.  


“When his commanding officer found that Dill was a respected horseman and had numerous horse show winnings,” Phryne’s tone darkened, “do you know what they assigned him to do during the battles in France?”  


Jack shook his head, knowing this would be horrific.  


“Dill was stationed under a wall, awaiting the German cavalry advance. His role was to cut the tendons below the hocks of the German horses. Beautiful warmbloods….Oldenburgs…Trekhaners…Friesens. He had to kill and maim the most magnificent of equines.”  


“How devastating!” Jack exclaimed, “He must have lost his mind.”  


“I visited Dill after the war in a sanatorium in London,” Phryne’s eyes moistened, “he had tried to kill himself numerous times. I was in France at the end of the war, weighing eighty eight pounds and having lice on my eyelids. As soon as I was cleaned up in Paris, I went to England. I knelt before him and told him I would do anything in the world for him, just as long as he got better and started riding again.”  


“And the rest,” Jack made a sweeping gesture which landed on Phryne’s wedding ring, “is history.”  


Phryne clasped Jack’s hands, her wedding band and ring flashing in the light, and softly spoke, with no irony or flippancy in her voice,  


“I had to do this Jack. I just had to do this for him.”  


Jack patted her hands, “Miss Fisher, you don’t need to explain anything else.”  


They then packed up the picnic lunch in genial silence and affixed the baskets to Phryne’s saddle. Jack yawned, then patted his stomach,  


“My compliments to the chefs, and to you Miss Fisher, provisioning us so well. I’m sated, hydrated, relaxed, but I need to tend to another physical matter, unless you need to first,” Jack glanced in the direction of a copse of trees and brush.  


“I’m fine Jack,” Phryne smirked, “I made use of an uninspiring little dunny behind the stables, basically a hole with a corrugated sheet around it, before our ride. It does have quite a commanding view of the bay. I call it the loo with a view,” fresh peals of laughter erupted from Phryne, “Dill told me of a member of the Beaufort Fox Hunt who used to raise himself off the saddle and let it rip over the side. Poor Dill had to address the lout that his very unhygienic practice was a faux pas with the new addition of ladies to the hunting field,” Phryne cackled.  


Jack ambled toward the wooded area. “A gentleman,” Jack called over his shoulder, “reveals nothing.”  


As Jack had politely disappeared from view, Phryne untied Lola and placed her bridle back on her head. Suddenly, Lola became agitated and started to paw and pace, pulling Phryne around so the two of them faced the bay. While Jack and Phryne had been dining, the clouds came out, the winds whipped up the waves on Port Phillip Bay and created white caps and rip currents. Lola, with her acute hearing, picked up on the shouts and screams from two boys who had capsized their rowboat while fishing and were struggling to swim to shore.  


Phryne quickly mounted and gracefully swung her right leg around Lola’s back but was unable to secure her right foot in the stirrup when Lola took off at her fastest four beat gait. Seconds later, after finding her right stirrup, she gave Lola slack on the reins so she free her head and get them both quickly to the beach. Lola left the trail and switch backs and plunged over the side of the embankment. Phryne grabbed the lead rope hitched to the left rear hook on her saddle and shoved her weight into her heels as Lola shimmied to the bottom of the thirty five foot bluff. Phryne later told Mac that she was thankful for the Australian saddle, which due to its unique knee rolls, or poleys, locked her into place, rather than her usual English saddle, as she would have been catapulted over Lola’s shoulder and would have made the descent to the beach on her arse!  


When they arrived at water’s edge, Lola lurched into the bay at a gallop and took Phryne to the boys, who were struggling to swim to the shore with the rip currents working against them to pull them out to sea.  


Phryne plunged into the water, completely submerged, holding on to Lola via her left stirrup as she could not reach the bay floor. The waves and current were so strong that Phryne felt her breeches tugging away from her bottom.  


“Stay calm, boys, everything will be all right,” Phryne called as she approached the boys, who were no older than ten. “Lola and I will take you to safety. Just do as I say,” Phryne commanded as she lifted the smaller boy out of the water and had him grab Lola’s mane to pull himself up and into the saddle. The older boy followed suit but had to sit behind the cantle of Phryne’s small saddle.  


“Wait Miss!” the older boy called, “Me mum and dad will have our hides us if we lose the boat.”  


“Never mind the boat,” Phryne exclaimed, “I will buy you one myself!” She then held on to the left stirrup and clucked to Lola, who, instinctively, galloped toward the shore at a forty-five degree angle to overcome the rip currents. As soon as they were ashore, Jack and Sir Sylvester met them. Jack jumped down and placed the older boy in his saddle, then climbed aboard and rode double back to the brothers’ house while Phryne rode double with the smaller boy. Jack removed his hat to chat with the boys’ mother while Phryne, soaking wet, turned and rode Lola at breakneck speed back to the barn.  


When Phryne arrived at the stables, she removed her derby and stripped to the waist. She was unable to remove her boots as they were suctioned to her legs. Shivering, she covered her upper body with a horse blanket and covered her head with polo leg wraps. She then went about toweling off Lola and ensuring she was cool at her chest, so that her heartrate had dropped to a level safe for eating. Phryne proceeded then to feed, water and hay all eight horses in the barn, and then went to the pasture to grain the four mares who were turned out. In the distance two kangaroos were watching intently, hoping to score some bits of horse feed dropped in the pasture.  


When Jack returned to the barn with Sir Sylvester, to his great surprise, he found that Phryne had taken excellent care of twelve horses and had even picked the stalls clean of manure. He ran into Phryne in the feed room as she was getting Sir Sylvester’s dinner prepared.  


“Hello Inspector,” Phryne greeted Jack with chattering teeth, “how are the boys?”  


“They’re fine, Miss Fisher. I see you are quite the fashion plate. Horse wear suits you for some odd reason. The brothers want you to come visit them when you’re warm and dry. They want a signed photograph of you with your aeroplane. You are quite the celebrity with your flight from Melbourne to London.”  


“I shall. I will bring them a new rowboat as well. Jack, darling, would you do me the honors of removing my boots?” Phryne sat down on a tack trunk and raised her feet. Jack was unable to get the boots to release. He had her move out into the aisle of the barn to sit on a taller tack trunk and grab the cross ties for purchase. After several tries with all of the strength he could muster, Phryne’s left boot emitted a suction sound and then released quickly, sending Jack falling backwards onto his behind. Jack rose gingerly and with great care, was able to remove the right boot, doing his best to avoid breaking his tailbone. He yanked off her socks and felt her skin very cold to the touch.  


“I’m afraid the breeches will have to go as well, Miss Fisher,” Jack did not like the blue hue of Phryne’s skin color on her calves, “so much heat is lost at the kidneys and the top of the head.”  


Phryne’s delicate hands deftly undid the buttons on the sides of her breeches. They too were stuck like glue to her knees and the tops of her calves and needed Jack’s assistance to remove them.  


“You know Inspector,” Phryne spoke with a tinge of shyness, “when I was sailing home from London, I had stopped in Java and bought black silk unmentionables with French lace, with you in mind.”  


Jack’s eyebrows lurched.  


“But I’m sorry you will see nothing but a utilitarian pair of white pantaloons under these breeches. You know, it is most unsightly for the outline of a woman’s drawers to be visible under her riding habit.”  


Jack had previously noticed there was no “lines” spotted beneath Phryne’s breeches.  


“No harm done, Miss Fisher.” Jack quickly stripped down to his singlet, offering his shirt and jacket to Phryne. She quickly donned them and then tied Jack’s riding jacket around her waist with his stock tie.  


“Your cravat, dear Jack, came in handy today,” Phryne chuckled as she walked barefoot alongside Jack as they approached her car, “do you mind driving back to Melbourne?”  


The Hispano-Suiza. A car built for kings. Jack jumped at the chance to drive the most exquisite of sports cars. As he slid into the seat next to Phryne, he gazed at the sight of her. Makeup washed away, damp hair secured by a scarf festooned from horse bandages, his shirt and jacket secured with his stock tie, pantaloons and bare bluish feet, her stripped, disheveled appearance caused his heart to constrict.  


“I don’t care that you’re married,” Jack reached across the seat and kissed Phryne fully on the lips while pulling her into an embrace. Phryne responded in kind, kissing him back and wrapping her arms around his neck. They continued, kisses getting sloppier and embraces getting tighter. When they parted for air, Phryne quipped,  


“There’s nothing like skin on skin contact for warmth,” as they pressed their foreheads together.


	9. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne is seriously injured from fall from a horse; Jack and Phryne share painful memories which previously drove a wedge in their relationship.

Chapter 9

In celebration of her outstanding show ring performance with a lovely, spirited Hackney mare, Dot was taken to lunch at her favorite downtown Melbourne spot, Coles Cafeteria, by Phryne.  


“You made quite a splash at the horse show, Dot dear,” Phryne gushed over chicken roll-ups, “Your darling Hugh was most transfixed by your ability to command such an elegant, high stepping mare.”  


Dot blushed slightly, and smiled mirthfully as she recalled the spirited lovemaking that followed later that night. When Hugh whispered sweet nothings in her ear, he admitted he was so proud of her confidence in the show ring that he fantasized about ravishing her in the tack room at the stables at Rippon Lea and how it took Herculean strength for him not to nibble at her neck with her clad in her new tweed riding habit.  


“Even with Aunt P clucking about?” Dot whispered back, with a chuckle. Hugh was ecstatic to see humor return to his wife’s face.  


Returning to her luncheon with her mistress, Dot brought up the subject of a three bedroom bungalow on the street behind Wardlow, and how it was now time for her and Hugh to set up their own home. This bungalow, only a forty-five second walk from Phryne’s bijou residence, was slightly over budget for the newlyweds. Phryne inquired about the specifics of the desired property and then excused herself to visit the loo.  


As Dot perused the desserts on display in the refrigerated case behind the metal tray track, Phryne ducked into the public telephone in the corridor outside the cafeteria and made a quick call to her financial advisor, Seymour Reuben, and advised him to sell the one downtown furnished apartment that Phryne was no longer using for her “office visits” with Lin Chung (and other unattached men including certain law students, dance instructors, pilots, actors, restauranteurs) as she was limiting her affections toward Jack Robinson, who had become a nightly visitor to her home but was insistent at not following Phryne to her boudoir, much to her chagrin. She then advised Sy Reuben to put a huge down payment on the cottage behind her own home, and to tell no one. She then instructed Sy to track down the realtor so that he could contact the Collins’s and advise them the cottage was now available at a much lower price, that due to a family emergency the seller was extremely motivated to sell.  


Phryne allowed a self-satisfied smile as she floated back to the lunch table. Like errant pets tethered to the yard, Dot and Hugh would be permanently semi-attached to her own household for years to come.  
\-------  


“Stunning! Absolutely stunning!” Phryne gushed the following morning over tea as Dot showed her the pamphlet on the bungalow for sale diagonally across the back yard of Wardlow, “It will be perfect for your future growing family!”  


“We’re so excited!” Dot exclaimed as she spread the pamphlet out on the wooden kitchen table, “I can’t believe the owner was willing to negotiate for such a lower price.”  


“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Phryne nudged Dot gently in the ribs, “this calls for a celebration!”  


“How about a walk through the park and an ice cream?” Dot beamed. Phryne was always so pleased when Dot found such joy in simple pleasures in life.  


“Well, toodle-pip, off we go!” Phryne grabbed her jacket and cloche.  
\-----  


While strolling arm in arm while having ice cream cones at the city park near the Yarra River, the two women were outlining plans to practically adjoin the two properties with gardens, connecting walkways, and new garages that were to abut against each other.  


“Won’t the Inspector love to plant some of his orchids for additional color?” Phryne suggested.  


“Oh, yes,” Dot gushed, “and a small lawn with a swing for our children, “and a verandah for an outside cook up!”  


Phryne and Dot noticed at the edge of the park a young mounted constable, who, while neglecting his duties, stepped down off his horse and was chatting up a pretty young girl as she stroked the horse’s nose.  


“Hugh just learned how to put the shoes back on a horse just yesterday,” Dot was sharing tidbits of Hugh’s recent mounted police training, “he carries horseshoe nails and a mallet along with a brush in his pack. He told me that once he had all of his gear on, he put his left foot in the stirrup to mount up and winded up falling over backwards due to the weight of his pack,” Dot allowed a chuckle.  


“Can you imagine the Inspector as a young cavalry officer, not even weighing ten stone, climbing aboard his cavalry mount with all of that Army gear? I’m sure he was infinitely smaller than Hugh at the time!” Phryne exclaimed with a laugh.  


As they approached the constable while he was chatting away in an Irish accent with a young Scot or Irish immigrant girl, Phryne allowed herself a moment of Anglo ethnocentrism as she thought to herself how typical of an Irishman, in dereliction of his duty, trying to secure the affections of a passerby.  


Meanwhile, on the street next to the park, a young woman was having difficulty shifting her car. She appeared timid behind the wheel, as if she had very little driving experience. A shabby car behind her carried two wharfies, one of them yelled as he shook his fist and laid on the horn.  


“Hey yer bloody cow! Get out of th’ fookin’ car!”  


As traffic moved forward, the two angry men sped past the hapless woman, swearing and making obscene gestures toward the poor woman, who was finally able to move her car forward. Phryne watched the whole scene, transfixed, while the constable was oblivious to the scene unfolding around him.  


At the next traffic stop, the two men screeched to a stop. The woman was unable to stop her car in time and struck the rear bumper of the men in front of them. The man who had been screaming leaped out of the car, ran to the woman’s car, opened the door, pulled her onto the street and began punching her. He was quickly joined by his mate as they together gave the poor woman a good walloping.  


Horrified by the spectacle, and by the inaction of the constable, Phryne and Dot sprang into action.  


Phryne pushed past the constable, snatched the reins from his hands, and swung gracefully over the back of the extremely tall police mount. She clucked and squeezed with her legs to cue the tall Cleveland Bay gelding into a hand gallop. She was upon the scene within seconds and swung the billy club on the first attacker, knocking him down with a blow across his shoulders and back. Once he was on the ground, Phryne tossed handcuffs to Dot who turned him over onto his stomach and cuffed his hands behind his back.  


The other attacker, the original agitator, took off at a dead run, weaving around cars and pushing down rubbish bins to thwart Phryne’s approach. While at a gallop, she reached down, grabbed the top to the rubbish bin, winged it like a saucer, and struck her prey in the back of his head. When she finally came upon his staggering figure, she began to beat him soundly with her billy club. As he was cowering from her blows, the chatty constable attempted to take decisive action by firing a round from his pistol, causing the horse to spook, Phryne to lose her stirrups, thus sending the two of them flying down the street, uncontrolled, toward the retaining wall of the Yarra River which rose only two feet from the ground. Phryne, with no stirrups, attempted to rise above his back in anticipation of the jump. When the gelding went airborne over the wall, there was an unexpected five foot drop on the other side of the wall. When the horse landed, Phryne was still airborne and was catapulted through the air and crash landed on glass strewn gravel on her left side, tearing up her coat, white trousers and high heeled shoes. When she found her cloche, it was streaked with dirt, indicating she had fallen head over heels down the embankment.  


A crowd had gathered around the entire scene, spectators jeering at the two assailants who were handcuffed, lying face down on the ground, with women standing guard over them, each with a heel dug into their backs, one of them being Dot Collins, who then gave the inattentive mounted constable a good tongue lashing. Hugh arrived on the scene, on horseback, from a neighboring precinct, to secure the area and call for the police wagon to take the thugs to jail.  


Phryne, meanwhile, was helped up the embankment by onlookers, only able to walk from sheer adrenaline.  


Hugh, while ponying the Cleveland Bay away from the riverbank, was insistent that Miss Fisher be taken to the hospital.  


“I’ll be fine, Hugh darling,” Phryne limped toward Dot, “It’s just a flesh wound. In a day or too it will be tally-ho again for me!” Hugh and Dot looked at each other, knowing that Phryne’s injuries were serious. Dot inserted herself under Phryne’s left shoulder, to give her support, as the flash bulbs of the newspaper photographers exploded.  


“Can you turn a bit more toward me?” Dot asked politely as Phryne attempted to pivot and let out a groan. “That’s good Miss. This way you’re not so… revealed.” Phryne looked down at herself and saw that her white trousers were completely torn asunder on her left side, exposing bruised flesh and frayed red silk cami-knickers. She smiled mirthfully at the photographers, allowing a smirk as she imagined her Aunt’s reaction upcoming newspaper coverage and images of her, disheveled, bruised and exposed. After a few pithy remarks to the press corps, she refused offer of an ambulance and simply asked for Bert and Cec to take her to see Dr. MacMillan in their taxi.  


“Dr. MacMillan, Mrs. Collins is on the phone, she says it’s urgent,” the nurse informed Mac, who was at her desk writing prescriptions. She then exhaled, removed her reading glasses, mussed her wavy red hair, and with a great weight, placed her fountain pen on the desk and took the call.  


“Good God, Dot, what has she done now?” Mac’s tone was cynical, fatigued.  
\------  


With the waning of adrenaline, waves of pain wracked through Phryne’s body as she lay in a hospital gown on a gurney, awaiting diagnosis from Dr. MacMillan.  


“The x-rays show a fracture on the left pelvis,” Mac was reviewing the slides with her reading glasses perched on her nose. Mac started wearing bifocals this past year after turning forty-one years of age. At a recent lunch with Phryne at their favorite French bistro, Mac noticed the difficulty Phryne was having in navigating the menu. Miss Fisher had muttered something about the font on the menu had become smaller than in past. Mac reached across the table and handed Phryne her bifocals. When Phryne could then read every item on the menu, she unleashed a load of expletives the whole bistro could hear!  


“You also have a sprained left ankle and a contusion on your left shoulder,” Mac added, “you’re lucky to have survived that fall.”  


Phryne grimaced and nodded and raised herself on her right side on the gurney and then looked over at Dot who was kneading her handkerchief in her lap,  


“But wasn’t it worth it to see those two brutes sprawling on the ground with two women standing over them like they had tackled them in a footy match?” Phryne was showing some animation.  


Mac removed her glasses and quipped, “I would have paid the king’s ransom to have seen that for myself,” Mac allowed a chuckle, “to show the world that Australian women aren’t going to put up with that kind of abuse from men.”  


“I should admit you to the hospital to make sure you don’t move and that your injuries get plenty of ice,” Mac went back to updating Phryne’s chart.  


“I don’t need to stay in the bloody hospital,” Phryne spat, “I’ve got Dot here, and Jane and everyone else to watch over me.”  


“Well then,” Mac quipped, “You must stick to this schedule of medication and icing. No sitting up, no stair climbing, no walking for at least a week. You need to stay prone for now. And, you being the root rat that you are, no intercourse for a month,” Mac looked over at Dot who was blushing, eyes downcast.  


“Oh, come on Dot,” Mac growled at Dot, who was a shade of deep red, “You’re an old married woman!” Mac laughed, “Do your best to keep this one out of trouble.”  
\-----

 

Jack Robinson in his quiet and discreet manner had been ‘courting’ Miss Fisher for three weeks following her rescue of the two boys from rip currents in Port Philip Bay. They had borrowed a police wagon to take a new rowboat out to the boys’ house and posed for photographs with them. Phryne left an autographed picture of herself with the Gypsy Moth she had flown from Melbourne to London which had set a new record.  


She and Jack were meeting for lunches near the police station, ostensibly to review case histories where they held hands under the table and stole intimate glances. He was her escort, as a “colleague” at two charity functions at Rippon Lea under the watchful glare of Aunt Prudence. They enjoyed two more beach rides at Frankston and were meeting Saturday mornings for hacks on the lesson horses at Rippon Lea. They met twice on Saturday afternoons at the cinema to watch a matinee and were ‘shushed’ by fellow moviegoers for snickering during the films. All fairly discreet and wholesome activities. Jack was at Wardlow almost nightly for snacks and a drink to unwind after a long day at the station, concluding the evening with cuddles, kisses and with eager hands exploring Phryne’s toned physique, all acts she returned with relish. At precisely ten thirty each night, Jack would quickly break things off and head out the door, leaving Phryne panting and frustrated. When asked when he would finally spend the night in her boudoir, he’d simply reply, “Very soon, Miss Fisher. All good things come to those who wait.”  


Jack had been in Sydney for the last few days wrapping up the affairs relating to the suicide of his brother-in-law. He had been called in as a material witness to confirm there was no foul play in the death of Lawrence McCann, who lost his and his clients’ fortunes in the stock market crash and left his young wife and children destitute. Jack would reflect on the affection he had for the children, Mary Beth, Matthew and baby James, unable to understand how a father could take his own life knowing that the enthusiastic hugs and greetings from his children at the end of any work day would make everything all right. Those thoughts found Jack reaching into his pocket and pulling out his late mother’s rosary, not for religious reasons (Jack no longer believed in an Old Man in the Sky—that bearded mythic figure died on the battlefields of France) but just to reflect on his own family and heritage.  


It was opportune that Maria Windholtz, a young female cousin of his and Catherine’s from Adelaide, was visiting Melbourne to look at attending the university and was now able to stay at Jack’s bungalow with the children while Catherine worked her night shift at the factory.  


The next morning, while Phryne was resting on ice in her boudoir in Melbourne, Jack sat down to breakfast at his hotel and opened up the Sydney Morning Herald, to catch a glance at Phryne in torn clothes, arm around Dot with a headline,  


**“Melbourne’s Miss Fisher Saves the Day Again!"**

The article went on, firstly, to add that she was now Mrs. Dillton Heathcock, Countess of Warminster, and then how she selflessly saved two boys weeks earlier from rip currents in the bay, and then now apprehended two thugs who were pummeling a lady driver who had the misfortune of not stopping her car quickly enough.  


Jack threw the paper down, drained his coffee and set out to speed up the Sydney proceedings so that he could take the Friday afternoon train back to Melbourne and not tarry by spending the upcoming weekend in Sydney. He carefully re-examined the newspaper photograph while on the train and noted that while Phryne maintained a cheeky grin for the photographers, he could see in her eyes that she was in great pain and horribly injured.  


**\--------  
**

“Dot, dear, honestly, I don’t pay you enough,” Phryne grimaced as Dot helped her back to her bed from the bathroom, “Having to wipe your employer’s bum goes above and beyond the call of duty.” Dot was tying up Phryne’s dressing gown, the black silk affair with the game cocks embroidered across the back.  


No Miss, you are not an employer,” Dot spoke softly as she eased Phryne back into her bed, and then proceeded to fluff each and every one of the dozen pillows, “you are the sister I wish I had.”  


That’s right Dot, the sister who now needs help getting on and off the toilet!”  


Phryne smirked and thought of the cottage she helped secure for Dot and Hugh. She wanted nothing more than for her and Dot to be lifelong friends and to grow old together.  


As Dot was applying a new ice pack to be placed under Phryne’s left side as she lay propped up by pillows, a soft knock was heard at the door to the boudoir.  


“Hello Inspector!” Phryne gushed, “What a pleasant surprise!”  


Jack was nervously twirling his fedora as he took in Phryne’s sick bay. He nodded and smiled at Dot and then bent down to apply a chaste kiss to Phryne’s forehead.  


“Well, Miss Fisher, you made the Sydney Herald this morning,” Jack deadpanned, “And I knew I had to get back here as soon as I could,” his tone was more serious and caring. Phryne took his hands as he sat down on her bed.  


“I’m sorry I gave you such a fright,” Phryne apologized, patting the bed so he could move closer.  


“Apology accepted, Countess,” Jack began with mock seriousness, “Do you realize how much paperwork and follow-up I will need to do with that ridiculous constable who allowed this to happen?”  


“What prey-tell are you going to do with him?” Phryne asked, “Administrative leave?” she smirked.  


“I think I will have him directing traffic on foot,” Jack mused, “and promote Collins to a Senior Mounted Constable.”  


“Like a Canadian Mountie?” Phryne asked, enthused, “How dashing! What do you think of that, Dot darling?”  


“I think it would be wonderful,” Dot replied, thinking of how much safer her Hugh will be on mounted patrol and that his work schedule will be friendlier. Jack looked down at his watch, knowing Hugh would be done with his shift within the hour. He then removed his overcoat and then his suit jacket and placed them neatly over a chair.  


“Mrs. Collins,” Jack began, as he removed his cufflinks and rolled up his shirtsleeves, “why don’t you take your husband to the pictures tonight and out for ice cream?”  


“Oh, I can’t,” Dot begged off, “I can’t leave Miss Phryne. She needs so much care.” Jack reached up and clasped Dot’s hands.  


“Don’t worry about Miss Fisher,” Jack promised, “I will stay this evening and make sure she causes no trouble.”  


“Why Jack,” Phryne grinned like a schoolgirl, “you mean you’ll be my nursemaid? Feed me bonbons, ice my bottom, read me stories and take me to the toilet?”  


“I can stay,” Dot insisted. Phryne pouted.  


“No!” Jack and Phryne said in unison, “You are going out for the evening with your husband, and that’s it!” Phryne demanded, “Just be back in time to get up in the morning to visit my hairdresser. I can’t wait to see you in a new bob!” Phryne exclaimed, “And take Jane with you!”  


\------  


“Are you sure you can stay the evening, Inspector? I was hoping you would while the evening away in my boudoir under different circumstances.” Phryne winced as she shifted in her bed.  


“I’m infinitely safer in your boudoir with your incapacitation,” Jack smirked then continued with a bit of sadness in his voice, “I really wish you would communicate with me more quickly. I should not have to find out that you’ve married or sustained serious injury from the newspapers. A telegram would be nice from time to time.”  


Phryne shifted again and attempted to speak, however, Jack continued,  


“I feel like you keep things from me intentionally,” Jack admitted, “and I’m not sure what we are or where we’re heading.”  


“Jack darling,” Phryne began, “that makes two of us. You’re out of here by a certain time each night like a skittish colt out of the blocks at the race track. Are you sure you’re not keeping a wife and kids from me as well?” Phryne chuckled, knowing that children were a major part of Jack’s life nowadays after overhearing Tink, Jane and Ruth talk about seeing the Inspector with three children at the ice cream parlor that favored him in appearance.  


“I think tonight would be an excellent time to clear the air,” Phryne patted the empty side of the bed and beckoned Jack to sit with her. He loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, a casualness that delighted Miss Fisher. He sighed and began to stroke Phryne’s hands. He then explained how his sister, who Phryne has yet to meet, became widowed recently and had no place to live with her three children. Phryne listened intently and then asked Jack why he kept this from her.  


“In a Catholic family, suicide is a great taboo,” Jack began, “Lawrence McCann was denied a Mass and a Catholic burial,” he continued and muttered, “Our mother is turning over in her grave with my divorce and my sister’s husband’s suicide. Anyhow, Catherine took great pride in the family she and Larry had started. They were pillars in their community in Sydney. On top of the grief of losing her husband, she felt shamed and embarrassed from his suicide and of her financial situation. She moved into my small cottage with their three children and took a position as a secretary at the GM factory on the overnight shift.”  


Phryne took one of the smaller pillows, and with her good arm, hurled it at Jack where it struck him on the side of the head.  


“You dolt!” Phryne exclaimed, “Why didn’t you tell me this? There is no reason for your sister to take on the hardship and danger of working the night shift. Do you have any idea of the contacts I have in the business community? I could secure her a much better position within a few days, even with the depression!”  


“But what about the children? I work during the day, Catherine at night so the children have someone at home at all times,” Jack countered.  


“Don’t be ridiculous!” Phryne hurled another pillow at Jack, “We have Dot Collins for the children and Mac needs an office manager. We will sort this out at once!” The most recent pillow hurl on the part of Phryne caused a pull on her left side, making her grimace in pain.  


Jack reacted by switching out Phryne’s ice pack and giving her aspirin powders. Through all over her acute pain and soreness, she was thinking about improving the lives of his sister and her children, who she had never met. He gazed at her in puzzlement and adoration, wondering how they could deepen their relationship with her high profile marriage to the Earl and the prying eyes of his constabulary superiors. Jack had resigned himself to the fact that this veneer of discretion would be worthwhile, provided that Phryne’s level of affection mirrored his.  


His hands were sweating as he contemplated sharing his feelings for her, afraid that his declaration of love would scare her off. He was steeling himself for a rejection, Phryne would tell him that they would remain friends, she would give her heart to no one, that she was her own person and that he was a fool for thinking otherwise. Physically, he had returned from the war with injuries, both mental and physical. He was unable to adequately perform for and satisfy his ex-wife in the bedroom. When he and Rosie had separated, she didn’t actually live with her sister, but with another man in another town, pretending to be his wife. Jack had told Rosie to go out and get a lover, have a child with him, and he was willing to give the child his name and paternal affection. A willing cuckold, Jack thought to himself as he would sit at his desk and down several shots of whiskey, further muting any sensation to be found in life. All of life’s joys came roaring toward Jack Robinson via the freight train that is Phryne Fisher. Dear God, what if I can’t perform for the passionate, experienced and exuberant Miss Fisher? Jack’s heart raced. Would Phryne Fisher want a man who told his wife to go on holiday to the seashore with another man? What does she see in such a drab milquetoast as himself?  


“I don’t think I’ve been this banged up since my final encounter with Rene DuBois,” Phryne recalled through clinched teeth as she shifted among her pillows. Jack was aware that her affair with DuBois was turbulent (what relationship with a twentysomething Phryne Fisher wouldn’t be?) and that DuBois turned out not only to be a batterer of women but a cold-blooded killer, but Jack did not allow himself to even contemplate the living hell Phryne had endured, even as that bastard had murdered his way across the world to Australia to cause her further mayhem. Phryne immediately recognized the look of concern on Jack’s face.  


“Jack Robinson, don’t you dare pity me,” Phryne ground out, “I could have and should have gotten away from Rene the first time he hit me. I was like an addict. His animal sexual energy was intoxicating. I mistook it for love, as he could be so tender and loving in the aftermath of his violent outbursts.” Phryne went on to tell Jack how she kept an immaculate apartment, cooked delicious meals, and took care of her personal appearance. If the paintbrushes, canvasses, or the accordion (Rene was also a musician as well as a painter) failed him, he found fault in her appearance, the dwelling and her cooking, using his displeasure in her domestic efforts as a pretext for a beating.  


“I tried to shield the Sarcelles and other friends from seeing the sadistic streak that Rene had in him,” Phryne continued, “often, with no pretext, he would start tormenting me out of boredom, or ennui, and then I would just take his blows, with no emotion or attempt to thwart his attacks, and let the energy of his violence pass through me and into the floor.”  


Jack could not believe what he was hearing. Strong, feisty, independent, Phryne Fisher, allowing herself to be debased and harmed without resistance. Phryne studied Jack’s expression and noticed the horror reflecting in his eyes. Jack had seen women who had been pulverized by their husbands, brothers and fathers to the point of lifelessness in their gaze. Although he felt his role as ineffectual, at least he could bear witness to their suffering.  


“It simply was easier to lie there and let him rage at me,” Phryne explained, “he really craved resistance, so he could escalate his violence. It was safer for me to just go limp. His bloodlust was so strong that he found great joy in killing others. After he had bloodied me to the point where I left and stayed with Mac, who was doing her residency in Paris, for a few days, I felt emboldened by Mac’s energy and decided to return to the apartment and get my things. He showed up, taunting me, saying I would never leave him, and that he would forever hold sway over me and have carte blanche access to my family’s wealth. I don’t know what got into me, Jack, but I fired my service revolver at him as he was leaving, but the shot grazed his shoulder.”  


“Too bad you missed,” Jack interjected, “the world is a better place without Rene DuBois.”  


Phryne then explained that she lodged with members of the “Sapphic circle” in Paris, including Gertrude Stein, Alice Toklas, and Dolly Wilde. Jack’s eyes widened, wondering if Phryne had experimented with women.  


“In case you are wondering, Jack, no, I did not have any romances with women. I had friends in that circle, who offered their boudoirs to me, but they knew I was hopelessly attracted to only male genitilia. Actually, I took up with an Italian race car driver and we had a short romance in the South of France. I felt my equilibrium returning, as Francisco Brunetti was a breath of fresh air after Rene; he was very kind, tender and made me laugh.”  


Jack then pondered what events led to Phryne leaving France for good just a few weeks later. She then explained to Jack that she had returned to her “Sapphic circle” in Paris and took up sleeping on the sofa in Mac’s flat. Unbeknownst to her at the time, her movements were being watched carefully by Rene DuBois, seeking to avenge the failed gunshot and Phryne’s attempts at independence. Jack began to stroke the backs of Phryne’s hands, and then looked at her imploringly, as if to tell her she did not need to go on.  


“I know this is hard for you, Jack darling, to hear of this. But I must continue,” Phryne began, “When Mac was doing rounds at the hospital, Rene broke into her flat….” Phryne’s voice trailed, “and….assaulted me….in every way imaginable. Mac walked into what looked like a murder scene.”  


Jack exhaled angrily. He wanted to go to the pauper’s cemetery in Melbourne, dig up Rene’s corpse from his unmarked grave, and kill him all over again. It now made sense to Jack why Phryne had gone back to England, to her father, after the taste of independence from her service in the war. He internally berated himself for fretting that his dick would not work for Miss Fisher; that his concerns for deepening their romance were paltry compared to the hell Phryne had endured from Rene Dubois, and yet she emerged with the ability to love others. Were her lighthearted dalliances with a myriad of pilots, trapeze artists, graduate students, tango dancers simply a ploy to avoid falling in love again?  


“I’ve never told anyone about this, my dear Jack,” Phryne continued, “once Mac stitched me up I went into hiding above the kitchen at the Paris Café Royale until I was well enough to leave for England. I took a pair of chef’s scissors and cut off my long hair, so that no one would ever be able to grab me again by my hair. Mac was appalled and had her stylist come upstairs to the tiny servants’ quarters above Café Royale’s kitchen,” Phryne chuckled, “I think I was the first woman in France to bob her hair.”  


Phryne then told Jack how she appreciated the green serenity of England after her ordeal in Paris, enjoying long hacks on horseback and watching the horses graze with contentment. She then gazed downward and changed the subject.  


“My darling Inspector,” Phryne began, “if we are to continue,” her voice softened, “not only can I not give you a traditional marriage due to my commitment to Dill and to the society around us, I cannot give you children either.”  
Did I just get a sort of marriage proposal from Phryne Fisher? Jack straightened.  


“Is that because you’re really forty-two years old?” Jack blurted out and shot a mortified look at Phryne, after just revealing that he had taken it upon himself to view her juvenile detention records from the dawn of the century, which listed her birth year as 1888.  


“Jack Robinson! That is the height of voyeurism! Shame on you!” Phryne barked and took a pillow and banged it repeatedly on Jack’s head and shoulders with her unharmed right arm, “How dare you research a lady’s age!!”  


Jack chuckled and bowed his head and shoulders, in mock avoidance of blows.  


“I must have a thing for older women,” Jack laughed, “Rosie is also four years older than me. Can’t a woman in her forties these days have children?”  


“That’s not the issue, Jack. After leaving France I was contemplating a life of celibacy,” Phryne began, as she and Jack snorted with laughter, “but while relaxing at my parents’ estate, I found that I was….late.” Jack gulped and shifted on the bed, feeling the rosary in his right trouser pocket. Please, Jack thought, please don’t tell me that you had an abortion.  


“Rene’s? Or was it the race car driver?” Jack asked, contemplating young Phryne’s dilemma and the backdraft from her father that would ensue.  


“It certainly was not Francesco. Our lovemaking was gentle and tender and would not have rendered me pregnant. My monthly visitor appeared upon my return to Paris. Rene found me and raped me two weeks later.”  


“I met with my mother, who was surprisingly sympathetic—‘We shan’t let father know’, was her reply. Mum made a phone call to her cousin, whose daughter, my second cousin, Caroline Calvert, was having trouble starting a family of her own after marrying a White Russian Prince, Vladimir Viazemski, while living in Vienna. Under the pretext of my going back to live in Paris, I actually took a train onward to Vienna and moved into the villa occupied by Caroline and “Jim” who were so loving and attentive toward me. They would feed me chocolate cake, ice cream and rub my belly like a Buddha for good luck!”  


A million thoughts were racing through Jack’s mind. Was Phryne Fisher a mother? Where was her baby?  


“When I went into the hospital to give birth, Mac took the train from Paris to be present. My pregnancy became complicated. Dangerously so,” Phryne’s aquamarine eyes met Jack’s, “they had to take the babies from me.”  
Babies? Jack balked. Plural?  


“Mac was present during my emergency caesarian. Two little girls. Twins. Identical. Angelic.”  


“Are the girls all right?” Jack gulped. Phryne’s eyes reflected grief and affection.  


“Indeed. Caroline and Jim are wonderful parents. I was very ill and was in the hospital for several months. Mac didn’t think I would pull through. Once I recovered, the doctors told me that I most likely would never survive another pregnancy. Jack, can you reach underneath my bed and grab the foot locker I have from the war?”  


Jack brought the locker to the bed and Phryne directed him to her nightstand for the key to unlock its contents. As he opened the locker, he gazed at a photograph of an attractive couple, a smiling, happy woman and a man with a full but neatly trimmed beard, with two gorgeous identical girls standing in front of them. The note on the back, “With love, the Viazemski family, Detroit, Michigan, USA, Christmas, 1929. Caroline, Jim, Natalie and Genevieve.” As Phryne nodded, Jack began to pick up additional photographs and letters, touching them gently, a mixture of curiosity and wonder. There was a stunning large photograph of both girls, around age seven, in white Communion dresses and veils. Jack looked quizzically at Phryne, wondering if Anglicans made a big deal of a girl’s First Holy Communion.  


“Yes, Jack,” Phryne began in mock displeasure, “my biological offspring are Catholics. This is my hell to pay. I’m sure Dot would be thrilled! I did tell Caroline and Jim that I was okay with their Catholic upbringing, provided it did not stifle their innate logic and desire for scientific inquiry.”  


Phryne then explained her daughters’ international upbringing, born in Vienna, raised in North America with a Russian émigré father and a half-English half-French Canadian mother.  


“Natalie and Genevieve are White Russian Princesses, in the house of Viazemski. Should the Communists be overthrown and the Soviet Union dissolved, the girls will certainly outrank me in peerage, Inspector,” Phryne mused wryly.  


Jack and Phryne spent the next few minutes reviewing photographs of Phryne’s breathtakingly beautiful twin daughters who were blessed with dark blonde hair and light eyes. Beach holidays on the Great Lakes, horseback riding adventures, frolicking with not one but two Pomeranian puppies, roller skating, sledding in Michigan’s winters, hikes with their father on the dunes along Lake Michigan. As Jack admired the photographs of the twin girls at various stages of their comfortable and loving upbringing, a surge of melancholy overcame Phryne. His stoic, good-natured Miss Fisher, always armed and ready with a quip or a pithy comment, became uncharacteristically quiet.  


“Jack, I cannot fathom why you want to have a romance with me,” Phryne’s voice became shaky as she screwed her face in agony, “You truly are a family man. You really should be a father.”  


“I’m a woman who gave her children away. What kind of woman does that? Shit! I actually said it out loud! Oh God!” Phryne drew her hands to her face to shield her sobbing from Jack, who rushed to her and cradled her head against his chest. He allowed his own tears to fall as she shook in his arms. A few minutes passed and Phryne had quieted. Jack allowed a brief thought of what evils Rene DuBois would have visited on his biological daughters. He kissed Phryne’s bowed head and pushed her hair behind her ears. By giving up her twin daughters, she had spared their lives.  


“I’m not supposed to cry,” Phryne looked up into Jack’s eyes, noting his face was wet as well, “I’m bloody English! Johnny Bull English do not cry! It’s ‘pip pip pip’ and ‘tally-ho’ to all!” Phryne began to laugh as her tears dried. Jack reached for his handkerchief and shared it with Phryne.  


“Do the girls know about their adoption?” Jack asked, with great tenderness.  


“Only my mother, Mac, of course Jim and Caroline and Caroline’s mum know. I just have to love those girls from a distance. Bear with me each year May 19 comes around. May 19, 1920. The day the girls were born.” Jack again gently gathered his arms around Phryne as to not aggravate her injuries.  


“And you, Inspector Robinson, are not to pity me!! Do feel free to walk away while you can!”  


It now occurred to him why Phryne seemed disinterested with babies and young children. It must be pure torture for her to see parents cooing over their young ones. It now made sense to him how it was easily she loved Jane, Ruth, Tinker and the household pets. Molly was resting nearby on the floor and Ember was sitting at the window, surveying his domain and swishing his tail with his usual kingliness.  


“Phryne, my dear Phryne,” Jack’s voice was still shaky, “At the start of the evening, I was going to ask for your permission to spend the night,” he then applied a gentle kiss to her forehead, “but now….I would like to stay with you every night, that is, if you will have me.”  


Phryne reached up and kissed Jack fully on the lips.  


“Of course I will. It’s about bloody time you imbecile! What took you so long?”  


Jack gazed downward to his anatomy meekly.  


“I’ve just been afraid, mistakenly so, that I would not be enough man for you and that I would have to go off somewhere and lick my wounds after you would tire of my inadequacy. I’m in love with you, Phryne, and it has torn me apart.” Jack was preparing for a rejection of sorts, fearing that she did not reciprocate his feelings.  


“I take offense to that, Inspector, that you have such little faith in me,” Phryne quipped, “You should know by my recent revelations that I do everything I can to not hurt the ones I love. I made a decision earlier tonight to reveal everything about me, except my actual age, which you did for the both of us, thank you very much, Jack. I realized that I had erected thick walls around my heart due to my experiences with Rene and that only you have torn them down.”  


Jack kissed her fully and cradled the back of her head with his hands.  


“God, Phryne,” Jack rumbled, “I love you so much,” he nuzzled her hair with his nose.  


“I adore you, Jack Robinson, so much that it frightens me. Now, can you please take me to the toilet?” 

****

****

\-------


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff abounds as the orbit around the Countess of Warminster sparkles with love and happiness.

Chapter 10

When Jack opened his eyes the following morning while lying bathed and nude in Phryne Fisher’s luxurious bed, he awakened to a most beautiful sight that clinched his heart. Phryne was awake and had been gazing at Jack for some time, her clear blue eyes radiating warmth, affection and a bit of desire. Her countenance reminded Jack of the cool, blue, clear weather in the morning following a night of violent storms, as if the raw emotions from the previous night had blown out to sea.  


The night had ended with Jack running a bath for Phryne (while she sat on the loo, gazing admiringly at his tweed-covered backside as he adjusted the water temperature through her Japanese silk screen), washing her hair, gently applying a loofah to her sore physique, and then, to her delight, removing his clothes and sliding into the tub to join her. Once dried, Jack escorted a nude Phryne to her bed, then removed his towel and slid in beside her. Cuddling and snoozing naked with Phryne Fisher was perhaps the most quietly intimate evening in Jack Robinson’s life.  


As Phryne stroked the contours of Jack’s chiseled facial features with great tenderness, she broke their reverie,  


“Good morning Inspector! I just enjoyed a fait accompli! I made it to the loo and back and ordered breakfast!” She then nodded over to the armoire. Jack padded naked across the boudoir to open the armoire, and to his amusement, found a dressing gown, cotton pajamas, slippers, and a crisp white shirt.  


“Go on Jack! There’s something else in the bottom drawer for you!” Phryne gushed.  


There was a packet with a neatly tied ribbon, containing socks, boxer shorts and a singlet. All items in the armoire were in sizes to fit Jack’s physique perfectly. Jack beamed and nodded his head. Of course, he mused, I’m in love with a detective and this is to be expected with her precise attention to detail. How long were these items in this armoire? Jack shot a look at Phryne, who was beaming like a nymph.  


After Jack dressed in appropriate loungewear, he helped Phryne into a Chinese-inspired silk nightgown with matching robe and gave her silky black bob a healthy brushing. How enthralled he was to be doing such mundane, chaste, yet intimate acts with the woman he had adored from afar for so long.  


A gentle knock at the door.  


“Miss? Breakfast?” Dot’s voice was sweet yet tentative.  


“Oh, Dot, darling, do come in! Let’s see your new hairstyle!”  


Dot gently carried in the breakfast tray containing enough hot food to feed the cavalry. She smiled demurely at Miss Fisher and then gave a polite nod toward Jack, not sure how to tread on this new development. Dot was trapped between feelings of elation toward the new intimacy between Jack and Phryne and awkwardness toward a couple, not married to each other, spending the night together in the same room. The man a divorced Catholic and the woman MARRIED TO SOMEONE ELSE. Dot swallowed.  


“Marvelous! Stunning!” Phryne gushed at Dot’s new bob as she ran her hands through her hair. “Look at those curls! Women pay lots of money to have curly hair like yours, Dot. And it’s natural! You look like an American film star!” Phryne gave Dot a kiss on her forehead, refraining from hugging her due to her own injuries.  


Dot looked down and demurred. Once again, conflicting feelings overtook her. While wanting to remain modest about her appearance, the new modern hairstyle gave her a shot of confidence.  


“Thank you, Miss,” Dot smiled and then gave a short twirl so Phryne could see the complete artistry of her hairdresser’s talents, “I shall have a much easier time washing my hair now and it won’t take all night long to dry.”  


Dot was then ordered by Phryne sit in the boudoir to partake in breakfast, which included Ruth’s attempt to adapt an Eggs Benedict recipe from New York City to Australia by substituting rasher bacon for ham. Jane, Ruth, Tinker were summoned as well and were joined by Ember and Molly.  


That Saturday morning, the boudoir was indeed a rollicking, noisy place in which Jack assuaged his awkwardness by devouring three plates of food. The rest of Phryne’s household, including her kids, paid no mind to Jack’s presence. 

\-----  
As Saturday afternoon came upon the household of Phryne Fisher- Heathcock, Countess of Warminster, Jack took his leave and would spend the rest of the day with his sister, her children and his cousin. Once the children were asleep, he poured his heart out to his sister, who was not totally surprised given his late arrivals to the bungalow must evenings. Catherine McCann was first taken aback by Phryne’s social status and wealth, however, Jack convinced his sister that she would find Miss Fisher to be a delight and that the two of the would become fast friends.  


Phryne, meanwhile, kept court in her boudoir. She was increasingly alert due to the reduction in pain medication and was hosting several visitors, including the young woman attacked by the two thugs due to the traffic mishap. The young woman thanked Dot and Phryne profusely for ‘saving my life’ and explained that she had just learned to drive and now was terrified to get behind the wheel of a car. Phryne gave the young woman her card and told her to stay in touch.  


“How awful, Miss,” Dot began, “this poor woman, after spending her hard earned money on a car is now too afraid to drive. I would hate to lose that mobility once I had worked so hard to get it.”  


“That’s it!” Phryne exploded, “Dot! You’ve done it again! You’re brilliant!!”  


“I am?” Dot was puzzled.  


“Indeed! Hand me that notepad!” Phryne began scribbling. “Have Bert and Cec take you right away to the telegraph office!” Phryne handed Dot the note.  


The telegram was sent to Detroit, Michigan to the attention of “Jim” Viazemski, the chief design engineer for Hudson Motor Car Company, also the loving adoptive father of Phryne’s biological daughters.  
\----

After a brief connection with Jim V, as Phryne called him, several dealers of Nash and Hudson automobiles in Australia were in touch with Miss Fisher. Immobilized, she worked furiously over the phone to acquire a 1929 Nash Roadster, a 1930 Hudson Four door sedan, and 1930 Packard Phaeton, all outfitted with right side steering wheels for the British Empire markets. Due to the worldwide depression, Phryne was able to pick up these three cars at low prices.  


Her phone calls included an interview for Catherine McCann at the Women’s Hospital for an office manager in Mac’s department; phone calls to real estate agents in search of neighboring bungalows so that Bert and Miss Lee Fox, newly engaged, and newlyweds Cecil and Alice Yates could reside within easy walking distance of each other. She then made a phone call to a most unlikely place—Dot and Hugh’s Catholic Church. She offered a substantial contribution to the collection plate if Father O’Leary would allow use of the church car park on weeknights and Saturday mornings. The final round of phone calls were to Phryne’s old aviatrix friend, Bunji Ross, who could make herself available as a driver instructor and would tutor the students on basic mechanical tasks.  


A week later, when able to travel downstairs to host dinner with her household, friends and family, Phryne raised a toast. Jack looked at Hugh and rolled his eyes, as if to say, ‘what now?”  


“And now, ladies and gentlemen, a toast to my newest vocation,” Phryne raised her glass of champagne triumphantly, “May I present to you the FISHER SCHOOL OF DRIVING! It’s a driving academy for lady drivers!” Phryne gushed.  


“And our motto is “Nobody Yells!” Dot interjected and passed out business cards, “Jane, Ruth and I will be the first students.” Hugh and Jack looked at each other and nodded with admiration toward the women at the table.  


“And then I will be the next student!” Miss Lee Fox exclaimed, while Bert gazed at her adoringly, and added, looking at Cec, “Yair, then your Alice will learn next!”  


“Too right!” added Cec, who held Alice’s hands at the table.  


Bert patted his satisfied stomach and added, “Yair, we can take the day off and let our ladies take over the cab driving!”  


“Oh, for God’s sake!” Miss Lee exclaimed as she elbowed Bert in the side.

\-------  
A few weeks later, Phryne was able to actually sit at her desk and walk short distances with a cane. Catherine McCann invited her over for dinner at Jack’s bungalow on a Thursday night. Phryne dressed modestly and conservatively (for Phryne Fisher) by wearing a cream colored pleated skirt, a crisp sky blue blouse, an off white sweater, a tan cloche and tan matching sensible shoes. Her only concession to style was a beautiful silk paisley scarf tied jauntily around her neck. Missing were the jewels, furs, lace, feathers and the clack of high heels.  


When greeted warmly yet chastely by Jack at the door of the bungalow, Jack whispered mischievously in Phryne’s ear as he took in her understated appearance,  


“Very sensible, Miss Fisher. Are you coming from Vespers services with Dot?” he snickered.  


Dinner went extremely well—the older children were enthralled with Phryne’s aviation experiences and retreated to their room with the promise of a plane ride. James was entertained by Maria, Jack’s cousin, which afforded decent conversation between Catherine and Phryne, where they spoke of their backgrounds and then Catherine thanked Phryne for the job at the hospital. Her working hours were more regular with a rotating shift on two weekends each month. Phryne offered her home to Catherine’s children on those working weekends.  


“I have three teenaged children at my house, and a dog and a cat. I can also take them to my Aunt Prudence’s estate, Rippon Lea, where we now have a fantastic riding stable. I’m sure Matthew and Mary Beth would love to learn how to ride. There’s nothing more spectacular than kids and horses.”  


As dinner finished and conversation waned, Phryne bolted up from the table and limped over to assist Catherine with clearing and dishwashing. While rinsing and drying dishes, Phryne confided to Catherine some details from her own impoverished childhood in Collingwood.  


“I starved like billy-o!” Phryne said, out of earshot of the children, “I used to steal the milk bottles off of porches. I used to hover around the churches on Saturday afternoons so I could sneak inside and eat the leftovers from wedding celebrations.” She then gave a brief synopsis of Janey’s disappearance and murder by Murdoch Foyle, how her family inherited the title and estate in England following the Anglo-Boer War, and of the boiled cabbage and jeering that was endured in boarding schools; evils that were alleviated by her friendship with Dillton Heathcock. Catherine listened intently as Phryne outlined the nature of her companionate marriage to Dill.  


Later than evening, Catherine confided to Jack that though his new relationship with Miss Fisher would be complicated and unconventional to say the least, she understood why her brother found Phryne to be so compelling.  


“I really like her, Jack.” Catherine hugged her brother as he departed the bungalow, overnight duffel in hand, “I will gladly drop you at her doorstep tonight.”  


In efforts to maintain discretion, Jack was not bold enough to park his police cruiser at night in front of Phryne’s house nor to be seen departing in the morning. Lately Bert and Cec had been driving him to and from the Fisher residence. Jack found himself a bit uneasy with the expressions from Bert that awaited in the kitchen in the mornings of his departures. Bert would look at Jack and think to himself, “Lucky dog. Lucky dog. It’s about damn time you took up with her. Now if you do anything to hurt her, I will fookin’ kill ya!”  


That said, Jack was wondering if something had happened at one time between Phryne and Bert. I think I will wait to ask that question to Phryne, Jack wisely thought to himself.  


When Miss Fisher first arrived in Melbourne in 1928, she was unattached and had taken a shine to Bert. Once while playing cards on the wooden table in her kitchen with Bert and Cec, much ale was consumed and she received some good natured ribbing from Bert about her ‘bein’ a toff’ and related to Queen Victoria. She then ran upstairs, brought down her foot locker from the Ambulance Corps from the war, and showed Bert and Cec her service revolver, her instruments, her copies of Grey’s Anatomy, and her Croix de Guerre. She gained instant street cred from Bert and ended up playing billiards, darts and downing quarts of ale with him. In turn, she took him to the skating rink. They began their passion in the new taxicab she had bought for them at the same time she bought her Hispano-Suiza. She eventually invited him to her boudoir where they soaked in her sumptuous tub and sipped the finest whisky. Bert enjoyed his lessons from his ‘boudoir tutor’, the only caveat was that as soon as either one of them were to fall in love, the relationship would have to end as they both wanted totally different things from life.  


At Bert’s rooming house, he had prepared a steak on the outdoor cook stove along with bread and Vegemite. The two of them laughed until midnight and then retreated to Bert’s room for a night of lovemaking and rest. When Bert awoke, alone, panicked, he was then relieved to catch sight of Miss Fisher buttoning up the shirt to his union suit to cover herself, asking for the toilet. Bert pointed in the direction of the hallway and to the left.  


“Bless you, darling Bert. The loo is indoors!”  


Bert reclined on the bed, arms around his head as he watch Phryne bounce out of the room, the globes of her arse barely visible underneath his shirt. His heart clenched at the sight.  


The following weekend the couple made love for the last time in Phryne’s boudoir. Phryne was finding herself feeling sentimental, Bert was falling in love, there was a bittersweet goodbye as Phryne assured Bert that one day a wonderful woman would sweep him off his feet. Bert and Lee were to be wed in the next month and he dreamed he could never be so thoroughly happy and enthralled.  
\-------  


Phryne sat in a director’s chair in the parking lot of St. Brigid of Kildare Catholic church on a weeknight as Dot maneuvered the sensible Packard automobile between cones set up by Bunji Ross to work on her braking and turning techniques. Jane set up an obstacle course where Dot would need to guide the front driver’s side wheel between two parallel sets of tennis balls that were laid out in parallel lines with only a foot of clearance.  


Bunji watched Dot with rapt attention at her first successful attempt to shift into second gear. Dot was fretting when she pressed the clutch to the floor and moved the gearshift, so frightened to stall the car. When the car smoothly shifted into second gear, Dot gasped in relief and then giggled as she moved the car into third then fourth gears. Bunji laughed as she retold the experience to Phryne, and then shared how Dot begged Bunji to navigate them to an open stretch of road so Dot could experience acceleration and the use of the clutch and shifters to reach 45 miles per hour. Dot’s face registered pure joy as she became proficient at shifting all three cars. Back in the church lot, Dot accelerated the Packard sedan at full speed at the beginning of the lot and then was ordered to stop from Phryne with her megaphone at different intervals. The final task was for Dot to learn three point backing and parallel parking. The same exercises were repeated with Jane and Ruth.  


These sessions continued nightly for a week with Phryne and her cane, director’s chair and megaphone. The girls moved on to the Nash Roadster and the Hudson for close quarters exercises while Bunji Ross took one of the group in the Packard out on the road in light traffic. There Bunji had the driver describe everything she was seeing, as well as what she viewed in her mirrors. Within three weeks, Dot, Jane and Ruth had full mastery of driving the Packard defensively on varying roads and traffic situations. They had learned to anticipate the actions of fellow drivers and pedestrians and were able to back and park with confidence.  


“And now, the final coup de grace, we shall all take turns piloting the Hispano-Suiza to Frankston!” Phryne announced, to the delight of Dot and the girls who were eternally grateful for Miss Fisher’s willingness to entrust them with her prized roadster.  


Dot was then tasked with reaching out to the woman beaten on the street by the two thugs and invited her to attend the Fisher School of Driving. When the woman begged off due to finances, Phryne overheard the phone conversation and called over to Dot,  


“Dot, please tell Mrs. Wolfowitz that her tuition at the Fisher School of Driving is gratis!”  


In a few short months, there was a waiting list to attend the Fisher School of Driving. No advertising was needed and the first group of alumni conducted a driving rodeo with vary obstacle courses at the church lot on a Saturday, impressing the males in their families. Hugh was delighted with Dot’s mastery of the automobile. While giving her a squeeze at the driving rodeo, Dot whispered in Hugh’s ear,  


“The Packard, when not in a driving class, is ours to use, carte blanche, which will be of great help to use once we move into our new home,” Dot shared with her beloved husband.  


“And I will be honored to be squired around town with you at helm, my dear.” Hugh thought to himself that by being a well-behaved modern male among newly emancipated women was actually a very nice place to be.  
\------  


In October, 1930, Phryne was finally able to walk unaided, albeit for short periods of time. Her home was now rollicking with young people on the weekends. With so many people out of work, she contracted through trusting friends of Bert and Cec to build a rear addition to her home that would house billiard and ping pong tables, a large standing radio with turntable (RCA from America), bookshelves and a table and set of chairs for board games. Her home became a mecca for those under twenty years of age.  


Mr. Butler became adept at creating sodas made from birch beer, ice cream and soda water. The older man felt energized being around young people and enjoyed turning the kitchen into a soda fountain.  


Jack Robinson also carried himself with the jauntiness of youth in the last few weeks. Not only was he a regular presence in Miss Fisher’s boudoir, he was a fixture in the game room, enjoying games and a good frolic with his niece and nephew, who were regular visitors on weekends. His sense of humor, latent for so many years, was rising to the surface and the kids in the house were drawn to him. As the weather was warming for the season, Jack was often weeding the garden clad in an open short sleeve shirt and khaki shorts.  


Phryne carried herself with a newfound poise and centeredness. She was actually able to sit down, look into a person’s eyes, and maintain conversation. She seemed finally able to relax.  
\-------  


“Your ankle is healing splendidly,” Mac began, “however, the x-ray still shows a hairline fracture in your left hip. It is still no boom-boom with the Inspector,” Mac chuckled.  


“I’m sure, you of all people, Doctor MacMillan, are aware of ways other than coitus for a couple to obtain pleasure,” Phryne quipped, “The Inspector and I are having a jolly good time of getting to know one another.”  


Earlier that morning, Jack was lying next Phryne after using his hands and mouth to drive her into several mind numbing orgasms, his face resting near the trouser crease of her right hip. Jack had studied Phryne’s physique with tenderness and rapt attention and always made a point to lift Phryne’s belly ever so slightly in order to kiss the scar left by the caesarian delivery of her twin daughters. To his chagrin, he was due to travel that morning to Canberra to attend a conference on the latest forensic techniques utilizing dental work.  


“How am I ever to leave this intoxicating aroma?” Jack had sighed into her thigh.  


“My dear Inspector, weren’t you celibate for years?” Phryne giggled, “Can’t you endure three days alone?” She stroked his wavy hair, sprung loose from his usual pomade.  


“A man cannot miss what he does not know!” Jack replied, nibbling at her neck, his confidence as a lover in full stride.  
\---------  


A few weeks later, all soreness was gone from Phryne’s left side. After a final exam and x-ray, she was cleared by Dr. MacMillan for any and all activities, be them as they may, Mac had quipped. Thrilled, Phryne made use of the hospital’s pay telephone to share her good news with Jack.  


Later that evening, in the boudoir, Phryne was running a bath in order to anoint herself prior to consummation with her dear Inspector.  


When Jack bounded up the stairs to the boudoir in rapt anticipation, he found Phryne sitting atop the bed, clad in silk pajamas, boa, magazine in hand, drinking a glass of wine and eating bon-bons out of a box, reading glasses on the edge of her nose with the Hit Parade on the wireless. Jack’s face fell at the sight of a mild mannered domesticated Phryne.  


“Yes, Jack, I’m cleared. However, my monthly visitor just arrived an hour ago.” Jack kissed her forehead, removed his coat and tie and headed into the shower trying not to show disappointment. When Jack returned, wearing pajamas and dressing gown, his previous disappointment was assuaged by a tray of freshly heated beef bourgignon. That Mr. Butler is a genius, Jack thought to himself.  


The passionate couple spent the rest of the evening in pajamas, reading the latest magazines, with a jazz piano playing softly on the wireless, and a dog and cat asleep at their feet.  


Their quiet evening was disturbed by the sound of Hugh’s heavy footsteps bounding up the stairs to the makeshift efficiency flat he shared with Dot on the top floor. There was a sound of running water from the new shower installed while Phryne was in England and then the sound of a radio program. Jack and Phryne were bade goodnight by the Butlers and the teens in the household, who adjourned to their rooms on the ground floor.  


Later, Phryne with her extremely keen sense of hearing, looked lavisciously over her reading glasses to Jack, who was wearing his glasses on the edge of his nose with while reading a Zane Gray novel. She ambled up from her myriad of pillows and turned down the sounds of the Duke Ellington orchestra on her wireless. Then Jack heard the sounds of lovemaking between Dot and Hugh.  


“Listen, Inspector,” Phryne beamed, standing barefoot next to the radio, “our kids are growing up!”  


“And you, Miss Fisher, have been such a good influence on them!” Jack chuckled as he resumed his reading.  
\----------  


A few days later, Phryne was summoned by old family friends, dating back from her Collingwood days, to fly up to Alice Springs to investigate the murder of the owner of a large cattle station. She rented the newest version of the Gipsy Moth biplane from the local aviation club operated by Bunji Ross.  


In preparation for Jack’s disappointment at her departure, she visited a lady photographer who was a regular lunch partner at the Adventuresses Club. There at her studio, Phryne was captured in a variety of provocative but tasteful poses to provide Jack something of herself for him to behold in the event of her absence. The photographs were to be framed and delivered to Mr. Butler with the utmost discretion later in the week when Phryne was installed at Alice Springs.  


Phryne sprang the news of her impending departure for the Outback while dining on schnitzel expertly prepared by the Butlers while Jack was chewing on a mouthful of spätzle’s.  


“My dear Miss Fisher,” Jack rumbled in a low tone so no one could hear, “My imaginings of our ultimate consummation torment my mind all through the day. I’m positively going to be climbing the walls while you’re gone.”  


“As will I, my darling. I will telephone as often as possible and keep you updated as to my whereabouts.” Phryne ran her hand across his forehead and then around his jaw and chin. “How am I going to handle not seeing this lovely face?”

\------------  
Jack was able to follow Phryne’s whereabouts when she was able to access telephone service. He was also instructed by Phryne to dine and stay at her home in her absence and that the Butlers and Ruth were given a menu of Jack’s favorite dishes and desserts to prepare.  


“I insist you stay in OUR home and eat well while I’m gone,” Phryne had lectured to Jack prior to her departure.  


“I shall not disappoint, my queen,” Jack grabbed her wrist and planted kisses up her arm in mock seduction.  


On the fourth day of Phryne’s absence, he was handed a parcel by Mr. Butler and noticed the photographer’s seal on the top of the package. Jack grabbed the bundle and raced upstairs, taking two steps at a time and then giving the door to the bedroom a heave once inside the boudoir.  


Dear God, what has she down now? Jack thought to himself as he tore open the bundle. His eyes scanned the beautiful and seductive photographs of Phryne in various phases of undress; his two favorites were a bathtub shot with her looking directly at him and then a shot her from the back, nude except for a Chinese fan partially covering her backside and her head turned, looking directly into the camera, at HIM, with a mirthful, beatific closed mouth smile. A small card fluttered to the floor from one of the frames.  


“For your eyes only, Jack dear. All my love, P.”  


The blood that had been rushing from his brain to his crotch suddenly lurched upward and flooded his heart. Jack had often feared the day Phryne would tire of him, or of monogamy, and move her affections elsewhere, and her promiscuous past was a source of contention for him. Jack always appreciated the small gestures and asides affirming her happiness and fidelity to him, as it was in her nature to show her love for him in unconventional ways.  
\-----  


It took two weeks for Phryne to wrap up the case in Alice Springs. On the day of her departure, she sent Jack and her household a telegram advising weather conditions were suitable for flying and she was to be underway immediately at daybreak.  
Phryne thoroughly relished the sensation of takeoff. As her small rented aircraft cruised above six thousand feet, she adored the view of the world from the air; the blue skies and the brown desert transitioning to green were soothing to her. Total freedom was hers alone when she was either piloting an aircraft, cruising along a newly paved roadway in her Hispano-Suiza sports coupe, or simply cantering on the back of a horse.  


At the end of the day, Phryne landed the Gipsy Moth at Port Augusta where she spent the night in a hotel and was able to chat with Jack on the lobby telephone, reassuring him of her intended arrival at the private airfield near Melbourne tomorrow afternoon.  


As she approached the airfield near Melbourne after a smooth flight, she was elated to catch a glimpse of her beloved Inspector standing next to the new Packard sedan, looking dashing in his fedora with his overcoat billowing in the breeze. A man with careful, contained, measured movements, it was a delight for Phryne to see him sprinting toward the plane as it taxied down the grassy airfield.  


When she dismounted from the plane, it was into Jack’s arms and with long, deep, passionate kisses causing the goggles on Phryne’s face to fog. When they broke from the initial embrace, they gazed adoringly at each other, holding hands, basking in mutual affection. Phryne pushed her helmet and goggles to the top of her head, then launched, slightly airborne, back into Jack’s arms, and kissed him deeply and fully, her hands moving all over his overcoat. With her deft fingers she began to untie his blue necktie and unbutton his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers to feel his bare flesh as he kissed and suckled on her neck. The frenzied lovemaking continued as Phryne guided them to the grassy area underneath the aircraft where she lay on the ground, her overcoat as a cushion, as she undid the fastenings of Jack’s vest and trousers. As they ground against each other, wordlessly kissing and caressing, Phryne tugged at her drawers but was unsuccessful at their removal.  


“Allow me, Miss Fisher,” Jack rumbled, his eyes dark with lust as he triumphantly slid her knickers completely over her flying boots and stuffed them in his jacket pocket. He then fell to the ground on his hands and drove into her; each thrust sending waves of pleasure, relief and ecstasy coursing through her, her moans and cries would haunt Jack for the rest of his long life as would the image of her brown, laced field boots bobbing around his shoulders.  


Suddenly, she pushed upwards and sprang to her feet. Jack rose quickly, concerned, casting a tender gaze at her.  


“Darling, are you all right?” he asked gently, “Are you not safe?”  


Phryne had wisely planned for their consummation while in the ladies’ lounge at the Ballarat Aero Club while her plane was re-fueled. She had removed her flying jumpsuit, donned her skirt, re-applied her lipstick and inserted her ‘family planning’ device. She did, however, expect to be taken in her boudoir later that evening, the frenzied coupling on the airfield caught her by surprise.  


“I’m tickety-boo! Yes! Of course! I just needed to hug and kiss you again!” Phryne threw her arms around Jack and plastered him with affection; their kisses becoming more inflamed and consuming. A few moments later, Phryne dropped to the ground, albeit on all fours, beckoning Jack to join her again, her hands gripping tufts of grass as he plunged into her from behind after he lifted her skirt and overcoat. It took a just a few thrusts and the two of them tumbled into a mind blowing climax followed by panting and soft laughter.  


“We are so ridiculous,” Phryne’s laughter echoed across the airfield, “just look at us!”  


“Oh, God, Miss Fisher, I’m so sorry!” Jack was apologetic for losing himself in her, “Are you all right?” Jack gently caressed her shoulders and arms. “I swear, tonight, after a dinner and a long bath, I swear I will make love to you like a gentleman should.”  


“My dear Inspector, sometimes it’s really rewarding when we just take what we want,” Phryne reassured Jack as she tucked him back into his suit and tie. “With me, you don’t need to ask. I will tell you if the time is not right.” She placed a tender kiss on his temple as he brushed the grass off the back of her coat.  


“Oh, no, Jack!” Phryne exclaimed as she turned from side to side. “I cannot find my helmet and goggles!”  


Jack mischievously patted the top of Phryne’s head.  


“Here they are. They’ve been on your head the whole time.”  


After they stowed the aircraft and made their way to the new Packard, Jack helped Phryne slide into the passenger side and began the drive back to Wardlow.  


“My God, I just took a married woman on an airfield in broad daylight. What kind of man have I become?”  


“In flagrante and al fresco. Oh, Inspector, I’m sure this is only the beginning!”  
\------- 

The next day, languid and sore from a long night of lovemaking, Phryne gingerly sat at the desk in her home office, opening two weeks’ worth of mail after Jack had departed for the station.  


A long letter from Dill had arrived. Phryne sipped her coffee as she chuckled over his anecdotes of the equestrian circuit; she pictured his face, crinkled with laughter, as he penned this letter. Dillton Heathcock, the Earl of Warminster, always found humor in most things. Her heart lurched over the image of Dill, suppressing laughter, with his eyes slammed shut, his pencil thin mustache quivering as he tried to stifle laughter, shoulders shaking, and cigarette in a holder losing ashes. His anecdotes of his travels in Europe and his wry comments caused peals of laughter from Phryne. To her delight, he announced at the close of the letter that he and Max were set to sail for Australia within two weeks and should arrive at Melbourne just after the Christmas holiday.  


The timing of Dill’s impending arrival was impeccable. Dot and Hugh were expected to occupy their new bungalow just before Christmas, freeing up their upstairs efficiency apartment for Dill and Max.  


Jane will be delighted, Phryne thought to herself. It will be summer holiday in Australia and after taking several months off from formal classroom schooling, she will enjoy the company and tutoring she will receive from Doctor Maximilian Rosenthal, newly minted professor of mathematics at Oxford University.  


During Phryne’s recovery from her injuries, Jane had enjoyed a few quiet evenings lounging in bed with her adoptive mom. As she removed her glasses and polished the lenses and the diamonds imbedded in the frame, she was overcome by emotion and gratitude.  


“Every day I am so thankful for this,” Jane passed a sweeping gesture across the bed and pillows.  


“What, for eiderdowns and pillows?” Phryne quipped. Jane shot her a mock frown.  


“I had nothing. I was nothing until you took me in,” Jane’s eyes moistened, “When I was a little girl, I wanted nothing more than to live with a loving mum and dad in a comfortable home.”  


“As should every child,” Phryne added.  


“Thanks to you, I have you. A loving mum. Now I have Dilly Pops and Max and the Inspector. Then there’s Ruth …and Dot…” Jane sniffed, “And I have opportunities that few girls have. I sit and I wonder ‘how’ and ‘why’.”  
Phryne stroked Jane’s back and ran her hands through Jane’s shiny bob.  


“I see a girl inside of you that evokes my own childhood.” Phryne placed a gentle kiss on Jane’s forehead.  


“You’ve done so much good, Miss, I mean, mum.” Jane wiped her eyes.  


“I know you will do the same in due time.”  


Bringing herself to the present, Phryne began to contemplate the arrival of her husband into Melbourne society. She and Dill will need to see and be seen at charity balls, teas, fundraising dinners at Rippon Lea with Aunt Prudence, and of course, on horseback at the newly minted Rippon Lea stables. Jack will need to arrive at said functions in a separate vehicle, or simply relax at Wardlow by reading novels in the boudoir or playing games with the kids in the house. Perhaps at those times the Inspector can spend time with his niece and nephews. Phryne was running different scenarios through her head where she and Dill will appear to the public convincingly as a married couple, while Jack Robison would have to recede into the background. Her mind was swimming.  
At the bottom of the letters and bills, there was an envelope with a red white and blue airmail border postmarked from Grosse Pointe, Michigan. Phryne’s hands trembled as she opened the letter from Caroline and Jim Viazemsky.  
Enclosed with the letter were snapshots of the twin girls frolicking on the dunes on Lake Michigan near Silver Lake and a photo of the family riding aboard Mac Wood’s Dune buggy atop a three hundred foot sand dune.  


_“My Dearest Phryne,_  
__

_As you may already know, Jim has been promoted numerous times with the Hudson Motor Car Company here in Detroit and thoroughly enjoys his position as Vice-President of design and development.  
With Jim’s background and experiences overseas, Jim has been sought after to oversee the importation of Hudson and other auto manufacturers into the Australian and New Zealand markets. Jim has accepted a position as president of Anzac, Ltd, which specializes in the importation and adaptation of American made automobiles into Commonwealth markets. Jim will arrive in Sydney in February and then the girls and I will join him in June, after the completion of the school year……._

Phryne removed her glasses to rub her wet eyes. Perhaps, one day soon, she will no longer have to love her biological daughters from afar. She then rocked back in her desk chair, contemplating the day she first arrived in Melbourne back in 1928, alone and living at the Windsor Hotel with Mac and Aunt Prudence for company. She then mentally took attendance of everyone within the orbit of her home, that in less than three years her household went from one person to almost ten, given different circumstances, plus a dog and a cat.  


Later that night, after working a double shift at the station, Jack joined her in the boudoir for a plate of sandwiches and a whisky, listening to a recap of Dill and Max’s upcoming travel itinerary through Australia, Tasmania and New Zealand, her tone bright and full of enthusiasm. After her third whisky, she then wordlessly handed the envelope and its contents from Michigan. Jack gently embraced her and stroked her back after he viewed the photographs of the twins and scanned the letter.  


“I know. I know. I know,” Jack whispered into her ear, and then took a nibble after she stopped shaking, “I love them already, Miss Fisher. I just have to prepare myself for the eventuality of two more little Miss Fishers!”


End file.
